


Blue Seas and Black Flags.

by Alexander_Slamilton



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Graphic Description of wound, Hurt/Comfort, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Trans Enjolras, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12210876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Slamilton/pseuds/Alexander_Slamilton
Summary: " “Why did he know not to bother firing?” Enjolras looked at his quartermaster, his closest friend, “there’s only one ship in the entire ocean that would illicit that response from any pirate captain worth his weight.”“The Scarborough.”“Aye but she ports in Boston,” Enjolras nodded, “at least she did.”“It can mean only bad things if she is docking in the West Indies,” Combeferre spoke low, lest any of the crew who were running about outside the room would hear. "A Pirate alternate universe.





	1. Old ends and new starts.

The wind whipped his hair; the sun glinted off the sea in golden fractals. The sails flapped and the rigging creaked in the breeze, men climbed up the ropes like monkeys, shouting at each other and calling across the ship. He leaned over the side, gazing into the bottomless blue depths, the sun beating down on the back of his neck. Out here, there were no other men, but those on his crew; there was nothing to see save for the blue of the sky and sea. The ship carved out its path in the ocean, white foam capped the tops of the waves it left in its wake. In his mouth and nose he tasted and smelled the tang of salt and fish that rose up off the sea; it was like home to him, he’d been on ships like the one he stood on since he was nine years old, now he was captain of one. 

 

The day was calm, with enough wind in their sails to give them four knots, they’d make Nassau in less than two days with the rate they were going. Their cargo filled the hold and the men were content to have their pockets filled with gold to spend. All in all his first two years of captaincy had been successful; _Le Ami,_ had risen through the ranks to become one of the top earners in Nassau and with that had come benefits for him and his crew. They were happy, happy with their life aboard his ship; since the last captain had died and they had elected him. Since their ship’s cook had left in a whirl of hatred and insults heard throughout the ship. He knew what had become of the cook, he had kept tabs on the name and not three months ago he had heard the name again. Captain Grantaire of _The Charioteer,_ he had scoffed and denied that it could be true, that their old cook had been elected to the captaincy of their main competition. Yet there he had been in the Jolly Drunkard tavern, laughing and smirking as Enjolras had walked in. They had left shortly after selling their goods, on the hunt for a spanish merchants’ ship they knew to be leaving Cadiz with gold aplenty aboard. 

 

“Sails! Sails to port!” Jehan called from the nest, “Captain there’s smoke there too, I think its a sunk ship.”

 

“Don’t raise the black just yet, what colours were they flying?” Enjolras shouted, looking up to the nest, but seeing only Jehan’s long red hair flying in the wind. 

 

“The black sir,” Jehan leaned over the side of the nest so that Enjolras could see his face. Jehan looked at Enjolras with a carefully blank expression. 

 

“Whose? Jehan, who’s black?” Enjolras studied the other’s man’s face, seeing if he could glean the answer from the set of his jaw, he could not. 

 

“ _The Charioteer’s,_ sir, we’re honour bound to help them,” Jehan glanced left and right looking for someone who would back him up; though Enjolras knew what he had to do, he had a code to stick to. 

 

“Make for port, don’t delay, we need to get there as soon as possible, do you hear me, Courfeyrac, there’s no time to loose,” Enjolras said leaning over the side of the railing to spot Courfeyrac at the helm.

 

“Aye, Captain!” Courfeyrac grinned at him and spun the ship around, yelling something indistinguishable to the men at the capstan.

 

“Are you sure this is wise, captain?” Combeferre said, in his ear, Enjolras jumped slightly having not known Combeferre to even be on the bridge. 

 

“We have to honour the code, we have no choice.” Enjolras muttered.

 

“Enjolras, I speak as your friend, what if he’s on there?”

 

“Then we take him to Nassau and he can answer to the table. If it’s his fault his ship has sunk there’ll be hell to pay for him; if not it was someone else and I’m sure the table would love to hear the tale.”

 

“That’s all well and good, but, Enjolras, what if he’s dead?” Combeferre looked Enjolras in the eye, behind the glass of his spectacles Enjolras saw the brown illuminated by the sun still looked black like the bottomless depths. “He was popular amongst the men, have you thought of what they’d do if they saw him dead? Of how they’d feel? I know for a fact that Joly and Bossuet miss him still.”

 

“We have no choice, if we get in to Nassau and someone finds out that we did not stop to even look at the wreck then we will never be able to sell in these waters again. I am fairly sure, Mr Quartermaster, that the crew would rather see one of their friends dead, than to have no money and no prospects.” Enjolras watched Combeferre’s face, studying it, watching as the beads of sweat rolled down the brown skin. “What would you rather Theodore?” 

 

“I don’t wish to see him dead, sir,” Combeferre gazed steadily in to his eyes, not flinching when Enjolras’s ice blue gazed fixed itself on to his whisky brown. 

 

“I know you harboured feelings for him, Theo-“

 

“Me? You think I say this for me? Captain, I harboured no feelings for Ranae other than friendship, I say this for your benefit, sir.” Combeferre said before nodding once and walking down the stairs to join Courfeyrac at the helm.

 

The smoke was now visible on the horizon, towering up from the empty blue sea, Enjolras could also see that _The Charioteer_ still had her rear mast intact. She was listing to starboard heavily, it would not be too long until she tipped and sunk to the depths; possibly with her captain on board. They would reach her within the hour, with the speed they were going at. He pondered for a moment just what Combeferre had meant when he said that he had spoken for Enjolras’s benefit. Though the thoughts soon sunk to the bottom of his mind as they drew nearer and nearer to their quarry. 

 

“What’s our speed, Bahorel?” He called to the upper deck. 

 

“Five knots, captain,” Bahorel said, reeling in the knot rope. 

 

“Take her to seven, open the t’gallons” Enjolras shouted, securing his hat to his head as the wind whipped about them even more fiercely than before, “we need to reach her before she tips.”

 

“Aye sir!” The crew shouted, men climbed the rigging to release the sails that would catch more wind and drag the ship to higher speeds. 

 

They skimmed over the waves, the sea seeming to push them along, urging them to get to their fallen comrade. There was even more sea foam on their wake as their speed picked up. Enjolras could see the ship even more clearly, she was beautiful but even from the distance they were at he could see the damage that had been done to her. Her main mast was leaning heavily against the front, the captain’s quarters had been blown out completely and she seemed to be taking on water from more than one place. Her colours flapped, whipping around in the wind, even as she sank she was still a proud and beautiful boat. The sun was shining through her topsails, the rays obscured by the canvas; her rigging was tangled and in some places it was hanging down and broken. Even as they drew near Enjolras’s heart sank, it was highly unlikely that there was anyone alive on board. 

 

“Pull us up alongside, prepare to board!” Enjolras shouted over the slapping of the waves against the sides of the boats. 

 

“Aye, aye Captain!” 

 

They pulled up alongside the listing ship, planks were throw over the side, as well as nets and ropes with grappling hooks. Combeferre was first over the side as tradition dictated, he didn't get far on to the deck before Enjolras was behind him. The deck was soaked in blood and other such carnage, the stairs that lead to the poop deck were splintered and the wheel had been blown out of its position. The doors through to the captains quarters had been ripped out of their hinges, and just as Enjolras had seen most of the captain’s quarters had been opened to the sea. Dead men were strewn about some still clutching their swords and cutlases, blood had soaked through the wood on the deck, making it sticky. Combeferre grimaced as his boots were slowly covered in blood, they had been new not two months ago. The heat of the sun had already made the bodies smell. Enjolras wasn’t looking at the men on the floor though, his eyes were drawn to the main mast, where a figure was sitting tied against it. His brown hair was matted with blood and gore, visceral carnage covered every inch of his skin; his coat, which had once been green, was now stained red and black. He was slumped over with his head on his chest, his legs were stuck out in front of him and there was a large cut in his shin that was bleeding sluggishly. Enjolras wasn’t even close to Grantaire, and yet he could see the state the other man was in and, in the depths of his heart, he knew it didn't look good. Despite all of this, Grantaire’s chest still rose and fell as he took shallow, ragged breaths. 

 

“Joly, get me Joly, _now,_ ” Enjolras shouted, his breaths were coming in fast and sharp, his hands were shaking as he gripped his pistol. 

 

“Captain, the chances of him living, they’re not good,” Joly said, he was just a step behind Enjolras as they strode towards Grantaire. “I can see from here that wound in his leg already looks as though it’s festered.”

 

“As long as he’s breathing he’ll hang on, you know him,” Courfeyrac had joined them as they stumbled over the dead and struggled against the list of the ship; he laid a comforting hand on Joly’s shoulder. “Stubborn as an old mule he is.”

 

“Just get him untied and on to the ship.” Enjolras nodded, looking around, studying every detail on the ship and looking out to the sea, “we don’t want whoever did this to them to come after us. On that subject, someone find me Combeferre.” 

 

Enjolras strode off towards the captain’s cabin, trying his best to ignore the bodies of Grantaire’s crew. Before he walked through the doors, he took out his telescope and stood on what was left of the poop deck stairs. He scanned the empty blue expanse for sails. There were none to be seen, the ocean was deserted; the sun slowly setting casting purple and orange streaks across the sky, the colour reflected on the sea changing the blue to a vibrant rainbow. The shadow in the distance that was Providence Island loomed over them, a gargantuan, black rock shrouded in mist. He saw nothing coming towards them, no masts and sails in the distance; there was no sign of who or what had attacked _The Charioteer._ Enjolras ducked into the captain’s quarters, he could feel the spray from the sea on his face, he could taste the salt on his lips, and he could feel the heavy thick wind that ran through his hair. 

 

He walked around what was left of the room, the ceiling of the cabin was low enough that the top of his head brushed the beams that spanned it; so he had to walk about making sure to watch his head. The room was painted white, or it had been once, now it was covered in dirt and soot; great flakes of paint had been stripped off the walls revealing the dark wood behind it. The desk, which he assumed had once stood just in front of the window, was now a splintered mess on the floor by the blow out doors. Paper and parchments, and captain’s logs were blown about leaving them scattered around the room, his feet crunched as he moved about, different bits of debris scratching against the floor. 

 

“You wanted to see me, Captain?” Combeferre’s low deep tones rose above the crash of the sea and the yells of the men about the ship. 

 

“Aye, when I first stepped on to this ship there was something about it that didn't feel right.”

 

“And what was that?” Combeferre stepped close to him, resting his hands on what was left of a sideboard. 

 

“Their gun ports aren’t open,” Enjolras turned to face his quartermaster. “Why aren’t their gun ports open?”

 

“I can’t answer that, Captain,” Combeferre shook his head, flicking one of his stray locs behind his ear, the beads clicking together as he did so. “Maybe Ranae decided not to fight.” 

 

Enjolras sighed and shook his head, looking around the cabin again, trying so hard to find the answers to the multitude of quests that were bubbling away in his mind. The room held no such answers, empty and destroyed as it was. 

 

“I don’t think so,” Enjolras shook his head, “the R I knew would never have just given up.”

 

“Maybe, sir, maybe he knew he would be destroyed anyway,” Combeferre pushed his glasses up his nose and took in a deep breath before he continued. “Maybe he knew it was hopeless. Maybe the question we should be asking, is not why he didn't fire upon the person who did this but who was it that did this and why did he know it was over before it had begun.”

 

“Why did he know not to bother firing?” Enjolras looked at his quartermaster, his closest friend, “there’s only one ship in the entire ocean that would illicit that response from any pirate captain worth his weight.”

 

“The Scarborough.”

 

“Aye but she ports in Boston,” Enjolras nodded, “at least she did.”

 

“It can mean only bad things if she is docking in the West Indies,” Combeferre spoke low, lest any of the crew who were running about outside the room would hear. 

 

“It can mean only one thing if she is docking in the West Indies, my friend.” Enjolras’s voice was grave, “The English want their islands back.” 

 

“We fought them off once, we’ll fight them off again,” Combeferre placed a hand on his shoulder, the touch soft, warm, and comforting. It was a weight that was easy for him to bear, a welcome burden. 

 

“I’m not so sure,” Enjolras looked down at his feet, his boots had several holes in them, the leather cracking from being repeatedly soaked and dried. “‘Sides it wasn’t us that fought them off the last time, it was Avery, Teach, and Flint. This time there aren’t of the old men left, this time it’ll just be us.”

 

“If the English come, and a war is necessary, then I am glad to be by your side, my captain.”

 

“And I am glad to have you there,” Enjolras smiled once, a brief quirk of his lips nothing more, “we should go, we need to get back to Nassau, we need to tell the table what we saw.”

 

“We also need to see if R is alive and well enough to tell us exactly what happened here,” Combeferre said, “we need to ask him if it was actually The Scarborough, or if it was something else entirely.”

 

“I hope it was the latter,” Enjolras grimaced. 

 

“Do you?” Combeferre’s eyes bore into him, they were riddled with gold, so much so that they looked like volcanic rock cracked with magma. “I’d rather stick to the evil we know. Stick to the evil we’ve defeated once before.” 

 

“Hmmmph,” Enjolras tilted his head, gesturing them once again outside on to the main deck of the ship, “Courfeyrac, Bahorel, secure all the paper and books inside the cabin, I’ll want them on my desk before we set sail.”

 

“Aye, Captain,” Both men said taking a wicker basket and going inside the cabin. 

 

“Jehan, where’s Joly?” Enjolras called up to the rigging where Jehan was swinging lazily in the wind, his red air billowing out behind him.

 

“Took Ranae with him to his cabin, Bossuet and Chetta helping to carry him. It didn’t look good, Captain,” Jehan clambered down off the ropes to stand face to face with Enjolras.

 

“How didn’t it look good?” Enjolras asked.

 

“There was lots of blood, sir, and I’m sure most of it was ‘Taire’s, his leg most of all; thought I saw his bone, all the way from the ropes,” Jehan’s pale, freckled face looked even more white than it had done before; a worried look was swimming behind his blue eyes. 

 

“Joly is the best ship’s doctor I’ve known or heard of, if there’s anyone that could save both Ranae and his leg, it’d be him,” Combeferre spoke, Jehan’s face relaxed and he scrambled back up into the rigging.

 

“I knew there was a reason they voted you in as quartermaster,” Enjolras said, walking towards the gangplanks that joined the two ships. 

 

“It was Courfeyrac, he was the reason I was voted in,” Combeferre sighed, “if he had run, I’d not have stood a chance.” 

 

“Ah, but he is always too easily swayed by what I have to say; I need someone who can stand up to me when my views become too one sided. I need a quartermaster who reminds me that it isn’t just me on this ship; that the men have needs and wants too.” Enjolras grinned, “You are and were the perfect choice for the job.” 

 

“I thank you for that, my captain,” Combeferre gave him a rare smile and a short bow, “go see to our errant friend. I’ll get us underway.”

 

“My thanks, Mr Quartermaster,” Enjolras jumped over the side of The Charioteer, and on to the deck of Le Ami. “Feuilly, Joly took Ranae down to his cabin, no?”

 

“Aye,” Feuilly said, he was carrying a large basket of food with him down to the galley.

 

“What state did Captain Grantaire seem to be in?” Enjolras asked, worry coming to life in his belly.

 

“He was mumbling, sir, definitely conscious. Not sure about the leg though, Joly seemed a little worried, sir,” Feuilly answered, his eyes holding little of their usual mirth.

 

“Thank you, friend,” Enjolras nodded to Feuilly, “thank you for all your hard work today, do not think it goes unseen. You are the best of us, my dear man.” Enjolras smiled, he had long held an admiration for the boy the previous captain had stolen off a merchant navy ship four years ago. 

 

“Aye, sir,” Feuilly jumped down the steps to the galley. 


	2. Nassau.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nassau, New Providence Island, a meeting place for scoundrels, pirates, and vagabonds alike; all run by one 5'0" girl with blonde hair and the bluest eyes you've ever seen.
> 
> TW: graphic wound description in this chapter, though it is skippable!! You won't miss much!

Enjolras turned away from Feuilly, and walked down the central flight of stairs, Joly’s cabin was the only other one of the ship that was separate from the large sleep and eating room that took up most of the ship’s lower deck. It was in the bow, small and narrow, the sides curving out allowing a little more space than the floor suggested. It was dark, though, being below the surface of the water, just above the keel. Enjolras had offered Joly the Captain’s cabin, but the small man had declined. Insisting that a little propriety and tradition should be kept on board, though Enjolras had made sure to give Joly more than his fare share of the candles and oil lamps they had on board. He bent a little, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the lintel; he could hear the moans coming from behind a half wall leading to where Joly had his table. 

 

“Hold him still, Boss,” Joly had a high pitched voice, it was small and mousy and only soothing when paired with Bossuet’s low calming tones. “I’m going to have to have a look at this leg.”

 

“I think I’ll need a stiff drink after this is sorted out,” Bossuet laughed, he had an accent that Enjolras hadn’t been able to place, not until Bossuet had taken off his shirt to reveal lines of scars and a brand. Enjolras had never asked Bossuet where he had come from; Bossuet hadn’t volunteered the information either, though a silent current of knowledge passed between them. 

 

“I’ll second that,” Enjolras said as he rounded the wall to see Grantaire laid on the table.

 

Bossuet was holding him at the shoulders and hips; Musichetta was on the other side, standing next to Joly, she too held one of R’s shoulders though he other hand was busy stroking through his hair. A lantern swung from side to side above them, orange light flickering in the motion of the sea. It illuminated the bloody horror that was Grantaire; his nose was obviously broken, both eyes swollen black, shiny and stuck shut. His shirt had been changed and his chest bandaged up, though the bandages were already soaking through; bright red patches of blood flowering through the white shirt. His breeches had been rolled up so that they stopped mid thigh, he wore no stockings, here Enjolras could see the wound in his calf. Blood flowed from it, whatever it had been that had sliced through it, it had cut through the skin, and muscles down to the bone; Enjolras could see white peaking from the wound. 

 

“Captain, as long as you’re there, you can help as well,” Joly said looking up and meeting Enjolras’s eyes, he had a large spray of blood going up his cheek. His black hair had been tied up as best as possible, a small bun on the back of his head, the tip of a dipping pen could be seen poking out the top. “Come here and hold his leg completely still, please.” Joly nodded towards where he had one of his hand occupied holding Grantaire; he used this hand to poke his spectacles further up his nose. 

 

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Enjolras backed up, he didn't like the thought of causing further pain to Grantaire with his inexperienced hands. 

 

“You wont hurt him,” Joly softened, he spoke as low and as quiet as he could, “if he moves while I examine him, it'll hurt him more. Captain, if you will.”

 

“If you’re sure,” Enjolras grimaced and took his place next to Joly and Musichetta, gingerly holding R’s leg. He watched as Joly bent over Grantaire, his hands skimming over the torn skin around the wound, he poured some of Courfeyrac’s vodka into the cut, Grantaire screamed his face going pale; blotchy red spots bloomed across his skin. 

 

“Boss, give him more rum please, and a leather bit to bite down on,” Joly ordered, his voice steady as he continued to prod about the leg.

 

“Aye,” Bossuet turned around, grabbing the bottle of vodka, knocking over a few saws and pots as he did so. He took a roll of leather from under the table, and after he’d given Grantaire a few gulps of rum, he shoved the leather in to his mouth. “Bite on this R.” He said, wiping some of the beads of sweat away from Grantaire’s face. 

 

“How’s it looking?” Enjolras whispered to Joly, he fought to keep his hands from shaking, he fought to keep the last meal he’d had down.

 

“Ah,” Joly sighed, “it’s hard to say, though I think it could be saveable if I just-“

 

“No, its not,” Enjolras realised, Joly was stalling for time, stalling so he wouldn’t have to do what everyone in that room knew had to be done. “It’s not saveable is it?”

 

“I- I don’t… maybe there’s a way we can make this work,” Joly tried desperately looking again at the gaping, ragged hole in Grantaire’s leg. “I could sew it up but, there’s just so much muscle damage, maybe if his ankle was-“ 

 

“You know, as well as I do, that there is no way we can mend this,” Enjolras rested his hand on Joly’s shoulder. “It’s too far gone.”

 

“I know,” Joly sighed, screwing up his face, “I’ll get my saw. Boss, more vodka, please.” He said, “Chetta try and keep him as calm as possible.”

 

“You can do this, if there’s anyone on this ship that can do this, it’s you,” Musichetta, tipped Joly’s chin up so that his eyes were level with hers. She had wild, brown curly hair, light brown skin and an accent that was honey sweet. She had told Enjolras, over a bottle of rum one night (or early morning) that her parents had been driven to the West Indies from Southern Spain, persecuted because of the religion they chose to practice. She was as fierce as Enjolras, as kind as Courfeyrac, as hard working as Feuilly, and as valuable to the ship as Combeferre; without Musichetta, Enjolras was sure her two lovers would fail. 

 

Grantaire was breathing slowly, a sheen of sweat covering every visible part of skin, his eyes were glassy and unfocused; Enjolras had never seen him so still. He was gulping air around the leather bit, deep breaths pushing his chest in and out. His leg was still bleeding, staining the table red; covering Joly’s hands. His eyelids fluttered every now and then. Though for the moment the cabin was eerily calm, the only sound apart from the waves against the hull, and Grantaire’s breaths, was the squeak of the lantern as it swung with the boat. 

 

It started, Enjolras focused on Grantaire’s intact thigh, feeling the pulse of life under his hands, he tried to ignore was going on next to him. He told himself not to listen to it, to push himself into another place, to listen to the rise and fall of the sea. Grantaire started screaming about ten seconds in, the leather falling out of his mouth and on to the floor; then no sooner than he’d started, he passed out cold. Enjolras was almost relieved, he had never experienced something as awful as this. Then it was done and Joly was putting Grantaire back together as best he could, with a piece of him missing. 

 

“It’s done,” Joly said, washing the blood off his hands before he neatened up the stitches around the stump that was now Grantaire’s leg. “I’ll talk to Feuilly and Combeferre about a prosthetic. In the mean time, Bossuet could probably make something out of what we’ve got on here.”

 

“I’ll get right to it,” Bossuet looked up from where he was cleaning the blood around Grantaire as best he could. 

 

“Good idea,” Enjolras nodded, some part of him still in denial about what he’d seen. “I have a ship to captain, if you’ll excuse me. I am sure we’re near enough Nassau now. Let Combeferre know that you have my permission to purchase anything you should need in order to assist with his recovery.”

 

He tried to shake off what he had seen and felt and heard in Joly’s cabin, he tried to think instead about warning Nassau about The Scarborough. He thought about the small room he had waiting for him there, the room that overlooked a courtyard, the room would be covered in dust owing to the amount of time he’d spent away from it. He thought about the next book he was going to pick up from the tiny book vendor on Market Street; he wondered if this one would be in French or English, perhaps, if he wanted testing, it would be in Spanish or Italian. But the memories of what had happened not ten minutes ago echoed in his head, repeating round and round never stopping, never ending. He could only imagine what Grantaire would be feeling when he woke. 

 

“Captain, how is-“

 

“He lost the leg,” Enjolras interrupted Courfeyrac as his helmsman spotted him walking on to the main deck, he watch as Courf’s face changed from concerned to horrified. 

 

“Oh,” Courf’s mouth was perfect ‘o’ shaped, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes turned pained, “oh god.”

 

“Joly’s taking care of him, he did all he could,” Enjolras said, “He’ll live.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Courfeyrac muttered.

 

“Grantaire hasn’t had the opportunity to smirk and make lewd comments about the size of my prize, yet, he’ll at least live to do so.” Enjolras smiled, “You can go check on him if you wish, I’ll take the helm.” 

 

“Thanks Cap’n,” Courf slapped him lightly on the shoulder and took off towards Joly’s cabin. 

 

Deck was a flurry of activity, crew were running about the place preparing the ship to enter in to the harbour at Nassau. They would reach it soon enough; he could hear Combeferre and Feuilly doing an inventory of the prizes they had picked up in the past three months.The royal and the topgallant sails were open full, powering them through the waves. Le Ami was a square rigged ship, four masts and a jib; at the back was the poop deck, which is where Enjolras usually stayed. It was the place where he was least likely to get in the way of one of the rigging crew. His crew numbered 180 men, all of whom were fit and able, all things considered he was doing well. 

 

“Combeferre-“ he called, seeing his quartermaster leaving Feuilly and walking towards the lower deck “-with me please.”

 

“Sir,” Combeferre said walking up to the poop deck and joining him, watching the shadow of New Providence Island become clearer out of the fog. 

 

“Captain Grantaire,” Enjolras looked at his friend and sighed, “he lost his leg. I’ve informed Joly that he is allowed to take whatever he should need from the profits of our latest prize in order to aid in Ranae’s healing.”

 

“That’s very generous of you, Cap’n,” Combeferre watched Enjolras carefully, his eyes never once leaving his captain’s face.

 

“Yes, well, he would have done the same if our positions were reversed,” Enjolras coughed, fiddling with a curl of blond hair that had escaped his queue. 

 

“Was there anything else you wished to discuss, sir?” Combeferre asked, his voice low, his hand resting easily on his sword; the other on his pistol. 

 

“Actually, there was. I was thinking, if he wished, that I would offer Ranae his job back,” Enjolras studied Combeferre’s expression. “I understand Feuilly misses the nest.”

 

“That he does,” Combeferre nodded. “Why? Why would you ask Ranae to join the crew again?”

 

Enjolras shrugged, he had just always assumed that Grantaire would find a way back to them at some point; he had even come to miss R’s debates, realising that since he’d gone there was no one who’d stand up to him like he needed. He supposed that beyond his frustration with the perpetual cynic, he had harboured some feelings of affection, if not friendship towards the man; he had always found Grantaire attractive, in a way. Despite what people thought about him, Enjolras was no monk, he was subject to the whims and wills of the heart and body; though he had taken none to his bed that did not mean he did not want to. 

 

“He is without a ship, and without a crew; though he is still our friend, we can’t leave him on his own with no choice,” Enjolras said finally, looking at Combeferre. 

 

“You miss him, don’t you?” Combeferre raised an eyebrow, his voice took on the tone it had when he was probing Enjolras for information. 

 

“I can assure you I do not miss him, not even a little bit.” Enjolras took out his eyeglass, looking in to the harbour, trying to gauge who’s ships were in floating on the water. 

 

“Hmm,” Combeferre looked at Enjolras over the top of his circular glasses, as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll leave you to it, cap’n.” 

 

“Thanks, Ferre,” Enjolras waved Combeferre off, turning to the island again. 

 

The town of Nassau was a few hundred meters back from the beach, the actual brick and mortar buildings started popping up after the myriad of tents used by the pirate crews. To the right of the ship, on a spit of land that jutted out in to the sea, was a large stone fort, Enjolras knew that there were seven quarter pounders pointed in their direction. The palm trees that created a barrier between the beach and the town swayed in the wind that danced over the waves to the island. A thick layer of mist covered the hills that bordered the town to the north, it rolled down the side, obscuring the dense forest that blanketed the rolling hills and valleys. The town itself was a hotchpotch of buildings, some of them English, some of them built in a more continental style, almost reminding Enjolras of home. He moved to the port side of the ship, hooking a leg over the rigging and standing on the very edge, feeling the slight spray of the water on his face. The ropes creaked under his hands, and the wind buffeted him gently, running through his hair cooling him down in the heat of the sun. He laughed, tasting salt and sea, looking down in to the clear azure water as their ship seemed to fly over the waves; he loosed the ribbon from his hair, letting the blond curls tumble over his shoulders and down his back even as they were buoyed by the wind. His waistcoat was unbuttoned and it almost slipped over his shoulders, the sleeves of his shirt ballooned out as the cooling wind found its way in to his clothes.

 

“Raise the black!” He called, hearing the command repeated by the shipmaster and the ropes behind him hoisting his banner high, he grinned looking back to see the red skull and scythe flapping in the air. 

 

The pulled into the harbour with Combeferre giving his usual speech about not spending all the allotted pay at once and making provisions for the future. The men laughed and joked as usual as Enjolras stepped into his waiting longboat. The men rowed ashore quickly, all of them eager to get in to one of their usual whorehouses and ‘let off some steam’. Enjolras was eager to see to his sister and father, he thought about the tea and biscuits that was waiting for him in the Tavern just off the main street in town. His feet hit the boards of the main jetty, his legs feeling slightly wobbly after over two months at sea. 

 

The streets were dusty, the wind from the ocean and beach hadn't travelled with him into town. His men disappeared into various brothels and taverns, one by one until he was on his own as he entered The Jolly Drunkard. The tavern was rather empty, though there were a few captains hunched over tankards of beer or plates of food. Mr Amos was behind the bar as usual, wiping down a tankard, and listening to shouted orders of drinks and meat. He inclined his head to Enjolras, indicating to that his father and sister were in their office and that he could go through and see them. The stairs creaked under him, announcing his presence before he could throw open the double doors. 

 

“Julien?! Is that you?” Cosette called through the doors, Enjolras heard the rush of her footsteps and the crash of a chair falling over before the doors flung open and Cosette was jumping into his arms. “Its been more than two months, I thought papa said no more than two months at a time.”

 

“Circumstances arose, we got delayed out of Boston,” Enjolras shrugged. “Where is father?”

 

“He’s sleeping on the veranda, or he’s smoking his pipe and drinking rum on the veranda. I think he misses the sea,” Cosette smiled sadly, Jean Valjean had been growing old, “he’s getting so weak he can hardly climb the stairs without Mr Amos helping him.” 

 

“It happens Cosette, people grow old, pirate kings are no exception,” Enjolras touched her shoulder. 

 

“We need to go over your profits from your latest prize, anyway, best get that over with before papa starts to grill you,” his sister grinned, tying her hair into a bun as was her custom before she sat down to write. 

 

“Indeed, there’s something else as well, something that would best be discussed out of nosy ear’s range,” Enjolras muttered into Cosette’s ear as he bent down to hug her once more. 

 

“Right this way then,” Cosette said leading him into the office. 

 

The office had two french doors that lead out on to the veranda, where Enjolras could indeed see his father rocking back and forth on his chair a pipe and bottle of rum in his hand. A desk was set up in the corner of the room, several ledgers piled on top of each other covered the surface of the large walnut desk. An ornately carved chair lay on its back from Cosette had knocked it over. An unlit oil lamp was the only other thing on the desk; Enjolras assumed that the quill and ink that usually sat on top of the ledgers had been buried under the volume of parchment and paper. 

 

“So, you took a merchant ship off the coast of Boston?” Cosette asked, opening one of the ledgers and revealing the quill and ink. 

 

“Aye, a rich one, headed for New York,” Enjolras nodded, “we took about a thousand pounds worth of goods and such from it. They’re being unloaded as we speak and should be all in the warehouse by the evening.” 

 

“I’ll need to see the captain’s log, as is customary for hauls more than a thousand pounds,” Cosette scribbled something else in to the ledger. 

 

“I know,” Enjolras took the log out of his bag, “Combeferre packed it for me, he reminded me you’d want to see it.”

 

“I knew there was a reason I pushed you to take him as quartermaster over Courfeyrac,” Cosette smiled and took the log. “Now, there was something else that was troubling you?”

 

“On our way into Nassau, we passed The Charioteer,” Enjolras began.

 

“I know, I sent her off about two days ago,” Cosette looked confused. 

 

“She had been aflame, nearly sunk, all her crew dead apart from Ranae,” Enjolras continued, “he was badly hurt. Joly had to take his leg. But there was something really wrong, ‘Sette.”

 

“What.” Cosette’s face turned dark, her brows knitted together.

 

“Her gun ports weren't open, she hadn’t even tried to fire on her attackers,” Enjolras said waiting for Coesette’s reaction.

 

“Why would Grantaire not even try to defend himself?” Cosette asked, her eyes going wide, “why wouldn’t he try at least?”

 

“That’s what we thought, we walked about on deck, and there was no sign of who attacked them,” Enjolras said, shrugging, “though I did think-“

 

“You thought, what?” Cosette interrupted. 

 

“I thought perhaps it was the Scarborough,” Enjolras whispered, looking outside to where his father sat smoking his pipe, and drinking his rum. 

 

“Impossible. The Scarborough ports in Boston now, she's not been seen in the Indies for the last year at least.” Cosette shook her head. 

 

“But, she is the only ship that could possibly have made Grantaire surrender, I might not like him much, but I can’t deny he’s a courageous man, Cosette,” Enjolras sat back and folded his arms, still not raising his voice above a whisper. “He would never surrender to just anyone, it would have had to have been someone with immense power, someone who could wipe him out no matter what he did; the only ship with that many guns that we know of is the Scarborough.” 

 

“But the English abandoned Nassau and New Providence to us twenty years ago, they’re not going to take it back any time soon,” Cosette frowned, leaning towards to Enjolras, her mouth set. 

 

“Listen-“ Enjolras stood and walked to the window- “I didn’t want to believe it too but-“ He broke off as there was a knock on the door. 

 

“Who is it?” Cosette called.

 

“Theodore,” Combeferre said, Enjolras could hear he feet shuffle outside the door, “I bring news of Captain Grantaire.” 

 

“Enter!” Cosette said, standing up and throwing her arm around Combeferre when he came through. “Thank you for taking care of my brother, big dolt that he is.” 

 

“It is not such a hardship, my lady,” Combeferre smiled, patting her gently on the back, “he’s a funny dolt at least.” 

 

“Haha,” Enjolras rolled his eyes, turning back from the window to look at Combeferre he said, “what’s this news about Grantaire?”

 

“He woke briefly, spewed some nonsense about an English ship, The Scarborough I assume, attacking him and his crew; though it was all very garbled and hard to understand. He also asked for you, several times Captain.” Combeferre reported. 

 

“Is he still awake, Theodore, can I speak to him?” Enjolras studied at his quartermaster intently, looking right in his dark brown eyes. 

 

“Nay, he’s not, he fell asleep again, before we could ask him anything, though Joly thinks he’ll wake soon,” Combeferre said frowning a little, pushing his glasses further on to the bridge of his nose, fingering one lock of hair absently. 

 

“Soon? When’s soon?” Enjolras asked. 

 

“I’m not a doctor, I’m a quartermaster; how am I supposed to know?” Combeferre raised an eyebrow at Enjolras. “I also came here to give you this-“ he took out a leather bound book from his bag “-you left it behind, also you left your share of the profits as well,” he threw Enjolras a coin purse. 

 

“Ah, yes, well I suppose I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Enjolras shrugged at the noise Cosette made. 

 

“Anyway, the latest prize has been loaded into the warehouse and is at your disposal, my lady, Captain. The ship has been scrubbed and any repairs have been made or are in progress as we speak; we are restocked and ready to leave soon as you wish, sir.” Combeferre stood by the door, his hands fiddling with a loose hem on his waistcoat.

 

“Great, though I suppose I should give the men some time here before we set off again, let them know they’ve four days. Tell Joly that Grantaire can be brought to the house; if father wont let them have the guest suite they can take my rooms here, but Grantaire will need to be in the best place possible if he is to make a swift recovery and I am in no doubt that that is in the manor.” Enjolras waved his hand to Combeferre, “I’d leave now, friend, if you don’t want to have to deal with my father.”

 

“Thank you, no, I still have nightmares about the last time. My lady, Cap’n,” Combeferre bowed out, leaving Cosette and Enjolras alone once more. 

 

“Well, I suppose the hour of reckoning has come,” Enjolras said, moving to the window and patting Cosette on the head, “time to go and talk to father.”

 

“You know he wishes you’d still call him papa,” Cosette smiled and went to sit to behind her desk. 

 

“I can’t,” Enjolras shook his head and stepped out of the french doors that lead to the balcony. “Father, it’s good to see you.” He said, standing stiffly to attention as Jean Valjean turned in his chair to face him. 

 

“Enjolras, it has been too long,” Valjean said, standing on shaky legs to shake Enjolras’s hand. “We missed you, here. Though I trust your time has been fruitful?”

 

“It has, we took a prize that-“ Enjolras stopped when he saw his father heave a breath before he fell into his chair. “Father?” 

 

“Forgive me, my strength is not what it used to be,” he took out his pipe again, and started to puff on it, the smoke wafted over to him, filling Enjolras’s lungs. “Now, I hear you and ‘Sette talking about something that sounded important, tell me Julienne, what is it? Is dear Ranae okay? I rather like that boy.”

 

“Julien father, not Julienne, not anymore. It was nothing, we decided it could wait; there’s no need to worry about it.” Enjolras felt the heat of anger at his father rise and then dissipate. Jean Valjean was old; his memory was shoddy and though he had mostly respected Enjolras’s wishes, some of those things had faded from his mind; somewhere Enjolras knew that his father still saw him as Cosette’s twin sister, not her brother. He pushed it from himself, whilst his father had still been one hundred percent compus mentus, he had addressed Enjolras properly as he had asked and that was what he had to remember. 

 

“I apologise my boy, it seems my memory as well as my strength is failing me,” his father smiled and gestured to the seat next to him. “Come sit a while, I’m sure your crew can wait another half hour yet.”

 

“Aye, father, though I confess that perhaps a half hour is too long - there are some matters of importance on the ship which I do need to be seeing to.” He shifted uncomfortably, laughing a little and scratching the back of his head. “It was good to see you again father, but-“

 

“You and Combeferre are requested to bless us with your presence at supper tonight, I miss the boy,” Jean Valjean smiled and leaned back in his chair, watching a horse and cart trundle down the small cobbled street, the palm trees that lined it swayed in the breeze. “You can go, check on your amour.” 

 

“My- no- father, Ranae isn’t… it’s not like that… he’s just… a friend… not even that really, father please,” Enjolras stammered knowing that his face was turning red, not from the hot breeze that skittered along the balcony. 

 

“I expect to formally meet him at some point mon petit,” his father said sleepily smiling, puffing on his pipe, rocking backwards and forwards, “now go, see to your ship and your crew, son.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much for reading!! Kudos and comments keep me writing so please do that, I am a slut for feedback and will probably love you forever.
> 
> This was also written to be a one-shot so if chapter ends seem abrupt that's why.
> 
> Come and yell at me on tumblr on my main blog: @obi-wan-kxnxbi -- Please reblog the story on tumblr, I'm uploading it to there as well!!
> 
> and follow my les mis blog: @jeune-et-joly
> 
> The next update will come on Monday, the update schedule will be Mondays + Fridays from now on!!!!


	3. Grantaire.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire wakes up and he is pissed.

Enjolras walked through the streets, having declined his sister’s offer of a carriage, people stood by when he passed; some men even dipped their hats at him. He held his chin up, the wind pulled his hair and made his waistcoat flap around him; small stones were pulled along with the breeze, they danced and tumbled on the cobbles. The closer he got to the sea, the clearer he could hear the waves and better he could smell the salt; the clearer his head became the lighter his shoulders felt. 

 

He arrived on to the sand, just in time to catch Joly, Bossuet, and Combeferre loading Grantaire on to the back of a cart. Ranae looked pale, his breaths were short, shallow, and sharp as though he couldn’t get enough air in to his lungs. His curly hair stuck to his skin and his shirt was drenched in visible sweat patches. His eyes were closed and one of his arms hung limply off the stretcher, the leg facing Enjolras was whole, though the trouser leg covering it was soaked red with blood. 

 

“Captain,” Joly nodded at him, “we were just about to take him up to the house, will you be joining us?” 

 

“Is there space on the cart?” He looked at the rickety wooden thing, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Aye, Capt’n. I’m staying here,” Bossuet smiled, and waved Enjolras forward, “I got things to do, the mizzen needs replacing before we set sail again.” 

 

“Alright, if you’re sure,” he nodded at Bossuet before hopping on the back of the cart, letting Joly take the reins. 

 

The journey up to the big house was silent, save only for R’s small, unconscious moans as they passed over bumps in the dirt track. Combeferre kept his eyes fixed on R, looking for any even minor change in how he looked. Enjolras watched as Grantaire’s eyelids flickered, how his hands clenched and unclenched in his uneasy rest. His lips were pale and cracked, his brow covered in clear drops of sweat, they rolled down his face and into his eyes and ears. His breaths rattled in his chest, Enjolras knew all too well the sound of a death rattle, though he refused to entertain the thought that Grantaire might die. 

 

The big house was half an hour’s drive away from town, though the hulking figure of the fort was still visible from the upper balconies. It had wooden slats, painted light blue with white decoration, a front door made of walnut that stood out dark against the light. It could have been Enjolras’s family home; he could remember being five years old and running through those corridors with Cosette, no worries going through his head and no nearly dead friend by his side. That was before Val Jean had introduced them to the pirates of Nassau town and the life on the account. 

 

With some difficulty, they got Grantaire off the cart and in to the drawing room, it was light, bright and airy with two double windows that looked out on to the gardens at the back of the house. It had an arch to the left of the room which lead into the kitchens, meaning that water and food could be fetched in little to no time, the kitchen also houses the airing cupboard which provided a source of clean linens. The room was quiet an calm, making it the perfect place to recover. They transferred Grantaire from the stretcher on to one of the large sofas, where he lay still once more. 

 

Enjolras, for the first time since he had been in Joly’s quarters, got a good look at what was left of Grantaire’s leg. Joly had cleaned up the rip in his trousers, they had been hemmed by Bossuet no doubt, meaning that they were a lot more attractive than they had been. The stump was bright red, again sewed up by Bossuet’s expert hand, but still oozing blood; it was an angry wound though it didn't look as though it had festered just yet. No lines of poisoning had worked their way up his leg, and though the wound was radiating heat, Enjolras was filled with slightly more confidence than he had had before.

 

“He will heal,” Joly said, watching Enjolras inspect the wound, “he will heal, I am convinced of it.”

 

“With things like this, you can never know,” Enjolras shook his head, “there’s no need to comfort me.” 

 

“I apologise Captain, I was just-“

 

“Trying to help, I know, Joly, sorry. Combeferre may I have a word with you in the study please.” 

  
“Certainly,” Combeferre stood, letting Enjolras lead the way to his father’s old study. 

 

The study, that Jean Valjean had once used to trade silks to the Spanish Colonies, was wood panelled, with large book shelves covering one whole side of the room. A huge desk made of dark wood stood facing away from the large bay window that faced on to the drive way of the house. Enjolras sat in the winged chair and Combeferre took the other. 

 

“Father wishes you and I to go to dinner tonight,” Enjolras said watching Combeferre’s face. 

 

“Does he?” Combeferre coughed, “your father wishes a lot of things from a lot of people.”

 

“Ferre, I know-“

 

“No you don’t, no you don’t know. I was a slave, I was born in to slavery, I watched my parents get whipped and killed; I saw people beaten to death before my own eyes, all before I was five years old. Before you came a long and took me away from that world, brought me here, and then seemed to think that after I was freed from service that I owed your family something.” Combeferre didn't raise his voice, but he looked straight into Enjolras’s eyes without flinching or looking away. 

 

“He just wants to check on you, he thinks of you as his son, you know he does.” Enjolras said softly, not looking up at Combeferre.

 

“Fine, I’ll go to dinner but only for your sake, because I know he’ll ask questions about the ship that you cannot answer,” Combeferre smiled slightly, huffing out a laugh.

 

“Thank you-“  
  
“Captain! Captain!” Joly ran into the room his face bright and alive, “he’s waking up.”

 

“I’ll brief you on the rest later, Ferre,” Enjolras stood, the chair scraping on the wooden floor. 

 

“We’ll leave you alone, too many people could overwhelm him,” Joly said, “just be gentle and don’t shout at him.”

 

“Does he know?” Enjolras looked at Joly.

 

“Ah, no, he doesn’t. I thought you’d best tell him,” Joly mumbled, “I didn’t know how.”

 

“That’s okay, its probably for the best that I’m the one to tell him,” Enjolras walked out the door, through the hallway and into the drawing room.

 

Grantaire was swearing, that’s the first thing that Enjolras registered. The next was that Ranae hadn’t actually sat up yet, he was still lying down on the sofa. His face was still pale and sweaty, but his eyes were clear and alive; they were still moss green and Enjolras was sure that they would still have the gold circle around the outside of them. 

 

“What the fuck happened to me? And why the fuck are you fucking here?” Enjolras noticed the look of hatred on Grantaire’s face, the sheer disdain melted in to a look of pain. “And what the fuck is hurting so much that I can’t fucking sit up?”

 

“I don't believe either of us are currently engaging in coitus. Combeferre, you should have told me.” Enjolras shouted behind him. “We found you a drift about a day away from Nassau, you were in a battle, your leg was badly cut, the wound festered. I’m sorry, Grantaire but-“

 

“You cut off my fucking leg? What the fuck, Enjolras, I know you hated me, but cutting off my leg?” Grantaire groaned, clutching at his stump, “who the fuck is going to hire a fucking crippled cook?”

 

“I didn’t cut it off, Joly did. I rescued you from your ship and brought you on to Le Ami, which you’d been exiled from by the way, I brought you to Joly who thought you wouldn't survive if he didn’t take your leg.” Enjolras brought a chair close to Grantaire’s side, “I don’t hate you Ranae, please, I just wanted-“

 

“What was best for the ship and the crew, I know,” Grantaire sighed, a few tears leaked from his eyes, “what am I going to do, Julien?” 

 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about-” Enjolras pushed a strand of blond hair away from his face, and pulled out his handkerchief “-here take this,” he said. “I wanted to ask you, if you wished to join the crew again?”

 

“But I was exiled from the crew remember?” Grantaire took the handkerchief, rolling his eyes as he did so, “you don’t allow people back when they’ve been exiled.”

 

“I was going to make an exception for you, if you wanted,” Enjolras muttered, looking at Grantaire, watching as his eyes studied Enjolras’s face. 

 

“Why would you do that for me?” Grantaire asked, looking more hopeful than he had done since he woke up.

 

“Because we’re friends,” Enjolras nodded. “Because the crew hasn’t felt right since you left, something’s been off balance.”

 

“You need someone to keep you in check, is what you’re saying,” Grantaire grinned, though his smile was tinged with pain. 

 

“I… yes, fine,” Enjolras smiled too, letting a chuckled bubble up inside. “When I saw you on the deck of that ship, I was so sure you’d be dead, like the rest of your crew, I was so scared because then, the last words we ever said to each other would have been hateful and in anger. I don’t think I could have lived with myself if that had been the case.”

 

“Sorry to disappoint, but, alas here I am.” Grantaire gestured to himself.

 

“Ranae, what happened to your ship, your crew?” Enjolras watched as Grantaire closed himself off, shutting down the open expression Enjolras had so carefully coaxed from him. 

 

“We were taken by surprise, I had no idea what was going on, one minute we were sailing our usual route out of the port and then the next we were being fire upon. I looked to see what ship it was, I thought it was Hornigold, perhaps, but it was the- Enjolras… the Scarborough, she’s back. I knew raising the gun ports was hopeless, that we were done for. Her new captain, he’s awful, we surrendered but they still slaughtered my crew in front of me, he was going to keelhaul me but his lookout caught your sails on the horizon so he sliced through my leg and tied me to the mast.” Grantaire started off slow and shaky, his breaths becoming faster, but then his voice grew more and more indignant. “If there’s one thing I want from life now, it’s to see that bastard keelhauled himself.” 

 

“Then you know the ship and the crew that’s most likely to get you what you want,” Enjolras smiled at Grantaire, seeing the fire that burned inside him. “Ranae, come home.”

 

“Aye, aye I will,” Grantaire nodded, still lying flat on the sofa, though he held out a hand to Enjolras so they could shake on it. 

 

“Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta have missed you terribly, my friend,” Enjolras grinned, taking Grantaire’s, slightly sweaty shaky hand. “Honestly, everyone has missed you.”

 

“I’m touched,” Grantaire smiled, placing his hand on his heart. 

 

“R,” Joly entered the room, he was holding something in his hand. “Bossuet made you this, he said he’d work on a better one whilst we’re on land, but I’ve had a look at this and I think it could work.” Joly handed Grantaire a peg leg. 

 

“Oh,” Grantaire said.

 

“I’m sorry R, there was nothing I could-“

 

“Joly, I couldn’t blame you if I tried, you are innocent of any crime against me,” Grantaire patted Joly on the arm. “Thank Bossuet for the leg when you see him. In fact I owe both of you a bottle of rum when I am well enough to drink it with you.”

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Joly touched Grantaire on his shoulder lightly, as if afraid to break him.

 

“I’m counting on it,” Grantaire grinned, grasping Joly’s forearm, his fingers going a little white. 

 

Enjolras backed away from them, letting the two friends catch up as he took a seat in one of the winged armchairs that faced the empty fireplace. He leant his head against the leather of the chair, stroking the arms as he thought, staring into the grate that was largely filled with ashes. The gold rings on his fingers clicked together as he flexed his hands; he could hear the rush of wind from outside and the hushed voices that came from where Joly and Grantaire were, he closed his eyes and listened to the quietness in the room. His shirt stuck to the back of the chair, leather was not made for the tropics, and he could feel the sweat rolling down his back, soaking into the waistband of his breeches. On an impulse, he bent over and took his boots off, letting his feet feel the air on them, he wriggled his toes against the wood floor, grinning like a child. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, looking proudly at the snake that curled its way up the length of his left arm, and the boat that sailed along stormy seas on his right; the tattoos had been done by Feuilly, skilled as he was, they looked real. 

 

As he sat in the chair, he thought about his life so far, how he and his family had escaped France, found Combeferre and become pirates all in the last fifteen years. He could hardly remember Paris and his life there, it was as though it was all a dream, some far away time that no longer existed, though he knew it was his past. He thought about the realisation that his body and the expectation society pressed upon him no longer fit with what he had seen himself to be; he thought about how his friends and family had accepted him. 

 

“Oi, Monsieur Reverie, we have to go,” Combeferre flicked a small piece of balled up parchment at Enjolras, “supper, with your father remember?”

 

“Aye, yes I’m coming,” he stood, “you’re not to get off this sofa.” He pointed at Grantaire.

 

“Yes, Captain.” Grantaire saluted him, making even that look sarcastic.

 

“That’s an order, Cook,” Enjolras rolled his eyes.

 

“Aye, aye, sir,” Grantaire winked at him. 

 

***

 

The first thing Grantaire felt when he woke was pain, a fiery burning sensation, he thought he had been flung into the burning depths of the seventh circle of hell. He wanted to die, he wanted everything to be over, he couldn’t remember anything about how he had come to feel this way. He shook himself internally, mentally berating his brain into stop being so dramatic. The next thing he was aware of was the feeling that something was weighing down his knee, something was heavy there, pushing his leg into whatever he was lying on; like someone was pressing his leg down in to the surface of the thing. He wriggled his toes, or tried to wriggle his toes, he could feel them he was sure of it. He opened his eyes, squinting as bright sunlight assaulted him from where it filtered through a large window; he looked down at his leg, lifting up his head from the pillow underneath him, he remembered the large wound he’d had in his calf but what he saw as he looked burnt him up from the inside. He was dimly aware of a voice echoing in his skull but it was all he could do to keep himself breathing, his heart was fluttering in his chest, skipping beats as panic welled up inside him. He felt his mouth move from miles away, he could only just hear the words he spoke; the words the other man spoke were barely registered. 

 

“What am I going to do, Julien?” His mouth finally worked, expelling the fear he had felt building up inside him like water in a dam. He watched as Enjolras’s cold blue eyes softened, becoming rounder, his cut marble shoulders slouching as he seemed to curl into himself. Grantaire watched as Enjolras turned from hard stone to human before his eyes, he could see guilt and sadness pervading the blue eyes, a slight down turned curve to the heavenly mouth. Enjolras worked a hand through his blond hair, a few locks of which fell down in front of his eyes, Grantaire was grateful in that his body was too weak to lift a hand to tuck it behind Enjolras’s ears. 

 

The next thing Grantaire knew, he had accepted Enjolras’s offer to join the crew of Le Ami again. When he’d left the ship, Grantaire had made a vow to never give in to Enjolras so easily again, he had sworn to himself that Enjolras would no longer hold power over him, that he would get out of whatever the hell he could call their relationship. He had set foot on The Charioteer a new man, or so he had thought; yet, as soon as Enjolras had turned his eyes on him Grantaire had felt his resolve crumble, he felt himself get lost in Enjolras’s eyes. 

 

“R,” Joly said walking to the room, his short black hair, covered in beads jangled as he shook his head. “Bossuet made you this, he said he’d work on a better one whilst we’re on land, but I’ve had a look at this and I think it could work.” Joly handed him a peg leg, made of what looked like cast iron. 

 

Grantaire wasn’t exactly sure of the noise that escaped from him, he supposed that it was a strangled sort of bird noise. He watched as Joly’s kind brown eyes grew clouded and worried, how his mouth turned down and his shoulders hunched. 

 

“I’m sorry, R, there was nothing I could-“

 

Grantaire wanted to leap up and hug his friend, Joly had been nothing but good to him, through his time on Le Ami. “Joly, I couldn’t blame you if I tried, you are innocent of any crime against me,” Grantaire croaked, touching Joly lightly on the arm. “Thank Bossuet for the leg when you see him. In fact I owe both of you a bottle of rum when I am well enough to drink it with you.” He tried to smile, though he was afraid it fell a little short. 

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Joly placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly a kind smile on his face.

 

“I’m counting on it,” Grantaire grinned, grasping Joly’s forearm, hard enough he noticed his fingers going white as he held on to Joly’s arm he felt grounded. 

 

Grantaire, recounted what he remembered about his crew to Combeferre and Joly, watching as Ferre’s face turned stony and Joly’s went from worried to horrified. He shook his head when Joly asked if there’d been anyway he could have gotten out of the situation; he also shookhis head when Combeferre asked if there had been another signs, earlier signs that he could have spotted. He felt himself slipping into unconsciousness as Enjolras and Combeferre left to go to their dinner. The waves of blackness pulling him under, leaving his mind completely void of all thought, he settled into it letting himself drift off to the sound of the palm trees outside and the faint sounds of Joly bustling in the kitchen. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep the comments and kudos coming they are making me so happy!! This story is my baby and has taken about four months of work, so your feedback means the world to me. 
> 
> This was also written to be a one-shot so if chapter ends seem abrupt that's why.
> 
> Come and yell at me on tumblr on my main blog: @obi-wan-kxnxbi -- Please reblog the story on tumblr, I'm uploading it to there as well!!
> 
> and follow my les mis blog: @jeune-et-joly
> 
> Next update coming on Friday!!


	4. The nature of feelings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras realises something he should have known from the last time Grantaire was on his ship.

Eight days, and many cups of tea later, Joly pronounced Grantaire fit to get back to the ship, though he wasn’t healed enough to use the leg just yet. Enjolras sighed with visible relief, being on land felt claustrophobic; Grantaire knew his captain wasn’t one to spend more time than that which was necessary on land, not when the sea was there calling to him just beyond the sandy beach. The day was hot, and the crew was complaining about having to lug the heavy supplies on to the ship, their hands were covered in sweat which made rowing all the more difficult. 

 

“If you don’t want to load it on, by all means leave it behind, but don’t come crying to me when there’s no rum, Bahorel.” Enjolras shouted catching wind of Bahorel and Feuilly, who were leaning up against the mizzen mast whispering to each other. 

 

“I wasn’t saying anything, Cap’n.” Bahorel grinned, winking at Enjolras who rolled his eyes. 

  
“Feuilly, could you help Grantaire do a stock take of what we’ve got in the kitchen. I don’t want to have to stop at Tortuga this time, if we can avoid it. Whilst you’re there, tell Ferre I need him up here.” Enjolras nodded at Bahorel and waved them along. 

 

“Sure, Cap,” Feuilly shrugged, slapping Bahorel on the shoulder and heading down below. “Anything else?”

 

“No, thanks,” Enjolras grabbed his hat off the wheel, putting on the worn leather tricorn with just a little bit of pride, two years on he’d not forgotten the giddy feeling he had known when he’d first become Captain. He moved along the poop deck, to his favourite position, hooking his leg round the rigging. 

 

“You needed my help, Captain?” Combeferre touched his back lightly, speaking first in a low calm voice. 

 

“Aye, the men on shore, I need someone to round them up or we’ll never leave Nassau. We’ve a schedule to stick to, or we’ve missed this prize.” Enjolras said, standing firm on the side of the boat, looking out on to the glistening sea, feeling the swell of the waves beneath his feet. 

 

“I could go, or I could send Courf, who would you prefer?” Combeferre said, as he held a hand out, stopping the next rowboat from departing. 

 

“I believe Courfeyrac is already down there, no doubt aiding and abetting the wastrels. We need to leave as soon as possible Combeferre, or else there’ll be no money this month.” 

 

“I’m on it, sir,” Combeferre was already walking down to the ropes, where he hopped in to the rowboat, setting the men a punishing speed. 

 

Enjolras used this time to head down to the galley, passing Joly’s rooms on his way. The galley was a tight dark room, set up underneath his own quarters; it had low ceilings and only one window, which often had to be closed due to the spray of the sea. There was a pit for a fire and a cooking top but all the other available space was taken up with various boxes and barrels that were all necessary for food storage. Grantaire was sitting on a box of ship’s biscuits, peeling potatoes for that night’s meal; his stump had been covered by his trousers, though Enjolras knew it was the same angry red colour it had been four days ago. Feuilly looked at him as he entered, then left making up an excuse as soon as he saw Enjolras’s face. 

 

“So…” Enjolras shifted, scratching the back his head, mussing up his queue. “So… how’ve you been settling in?” He coughed, sitting on the box opposite Grantaire.

 

“Fine.” Grantaire grunted, not even bothering to look at Enjolras.

 

“Everyone’s been good to you though? No one’s giving you any trouble? Cause-“ Enjolras coughed a little “-cause if they had I’d sort them out, you know I don’t-“ 

 

“Everyone’s been fine. I’m fine. If you’re sitting there then you could at least help me peel these potatoes, since you scared my help away.” Grantaire muttered, thrusting a peeler at Enjolras. 

 

“Oh, okay.” Enjolras said, taking the peeler and picking up a potato from the barrel. “How’s the-“

 

“Captain, please,” Grantaire seemed to choke on his words, as though they had stuck in his throat, “don’t pretend to care about me.”

 

“I’m not pretending,” Enjolras looked up at Grantaire sharply, feeling a pang of hurt at the words, “Ranae, I’m not pretending to care, I really do care how about you.” 

 

“Fine. My leg is fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.” He said the words harshly, grinding them out, still not looking at Enjolras. “I mean. I’ve gone from being a captain to a cook with one fucking leg. So yeah, _Captain_ everything is so incredibly fine right now.”

 

“I- I-“ Enjolras stuttered, feeling as though the floor had been ripped from under him, he watched a Grantaire ducked his head further, not showing his face. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through, Ranae, I’m sorry.”

 

“Yeah, fine.” Grantaire nodded, continuing to peel his potato, “we need to get this done by the time we set sail, so.” 

 

“Alright, alright,” Enjolras said soothingly, picking up another potato, “I just wanted you to know that we’ll find who did this, R, that we can use this to make the others _fight._ ” 

 

“You need to leave, you need to leave now,” Grantaire looked at him finally, his green eyes filled with a deep-seated rage, a fiery burning inferno that was swirling furiously. The cook did not shout, he didn’t raise his voice at all, he didn't make a move towards Enjolras. 

 

“Ranae, I just… I thought-“ 

 

“No. Your ideals do not trump my needs, _Captain_." Grantaire sneered, baring his teeth at Enjolras, his fingers that were curled round the peeler were turning white. 

 

“Yes, yes, okay,” Enjolras stood, feeling a little unsteady on his feet as he hurried out of the galley, nearly smacking his head on the door frame. 

 

He walked to his quarters, not looking at anyone he passed, ignoring their concerned glances; he fought to keep his tears spilling down his face, he hadn’t cried in years, hadn't even cried when his first captain and mentor had died in his arms. He hadn’t cried when he’d watched that ship go down in flames from an English attack. He hadn’t cried when half his friends had died in front of him. Now though, there was such a tidal wave of emotion building up inside him, he was scared that the dam would break and it would all come flooding out. He slammed the door to his rooms behind him, the glass rattled in its frames but he ignored it as he flung himself down behind his desk and rested his head on his hands. 

 

“Captain.” A soft voice, that could only have belonged to one person on the ship, the one person who could pull him out of the mood he was spiralling down into. “Julien, what happened?” Courfeyrac walked into the room, sitting on the edge of his desk.

 

“I love him,” Enjolras muttered, “I love him and he hates me.”

 

“You… oh… _oh…_ I’m sure he doesn't hate you, Julien.” Courfeyrac took off Enjolras’s hat, and undid his queue carding his fingers through Enjolras’s hair as Enjolras leant his head on Courf’s thigh. “It’s going to be okay. He’s hurt right now, like a wounded animal, you’ve got to give him space and time to heal. Give him time to breathe and come to terms with what’s happened to him.” 

 

Enjolras finally let himself cry, for the first time in nearly ten years he let himself cry. He sobbed into Courf’s thigh, Courfeyrac was his oldest friend bar Combeferre; they had met as powder monkeys when Enjolras was twelve and had been inseparable since. He fisted his fingers in his friend’s shirt, feeling his warmth seep in to him, letting himself bask in Courf’s easy light. 

 

“He doesn’t hate you,” Courfeyrac repeated, leaning down and lightly kissing the top of Enjolras’s head, “I promise he doesn’t hate you. Now come on, the only thing that is going to help this situation is-“

 

“A bottle of rum?” Enjolras croaked hopefully. 

 

“No. A nap.” Courfeyrac hopped down from the desk and scooped Enjolras up in his arms, before he walked over to the bed. “Sleep and then come and find me when you wake up.”

 

“But, I’m the captain; captains don’t nap,” Enjolras said indignantly, wrinkling up his nose and sniffed a little, but he rested his head on Courfeyrac’s chest as he was carried bodily to his bed. 

 

“Captains nap when their helmsmen make them,”Courfeyrac chuckled before he threw the blanket over Enjolras, tucking it around him. “Don’t bother coming out before half an hour’s passed, Ferre and I can take care of this joint for the next few minutes.” 

 

Courf left the room, shutting the door gently behind himself, not ignoring the way Enjolras fell asleep almost immediately. The boards of the deck creaked slightly under his feet, he’d learned their pattern when he’d only been a rigger; he’d learned this ship and she how ran through the years, figuring it out slowly through trial and error. Now though, now he was helmsman, one of the people other people listened to; Captain may be the one in charge but Courfeyrac knew that without him the ship’d only float around in the water. He made the ship go places; and there was no greater feeling in the world when he found the course they were taking and steered the great man of war through the swell of the waves. He could find islands in a storm, find wind when they were becalmed, he could steer them through twenty foot waves to safety; there was no other man or woman aboard the ship that could do what he did as well as he could. He walked the boards with his chest puffed out, his long coat brushing against the backs of his ankles. Gabriel de Courfeyrac had run away from home in the town of Marseilles at the tender age of five, he’d been picked up by a travelling circus, then he’d been ferried to the new world, to Charles Town in the Carolina colony. There at the age of ten he’d joined the crew of Pirate Captain Charles Vane, he had met Enjolras and Combeferre two years later. Now he was just known as Courf, or Courfeyrac, never Gabriel; not even Enjolras or Ferre called him Gabriel, though he held the name in his heart as a memento of a previous life. 

 

Top deck was swarming with men, it always was, Avery was at the wheel laughing at something Combeferre said though he quickly vacated the post when Courf walked up to them. The sea wind they’d caught had opened the main sails to their full, and, judging by the spray and foam on the waves, they were moving at a steady five knots. Combeferre touched him on the shoulder slightly, raising an eyebrow, Courf just smiled and shrugged knowing that Ferre would understand. 

 

“Open the t’gallons, make hard for starboard, I want the bowsprit open to the full.” Combeferre called, his deep voice echoing through the ship. “Avery if you don’t get your sorry arse up there and open those sails there ain’t going to be rum in your ration this week.” Avery shot Combeferre a glance, but did nothing more when Ferre stood up to his full height from where he’d been leant against the rails. 

 

“Aye sir,” he muttered and started to climb the rigging. 

 

“What did he do this time?” Combeferre asked Courfeyrac once every other man around them had moved away. 

 

“Pissed R off, as usual. One thing though, he’s finally caught up with his feelings though.” Courfeyrac glanced at Combeferre, taking his eyes off the sea for a second. 

 

“Has he realised what Grantaire feels for him, or is that still going above his head?” Combeferre sighed, looking about him at the men, making sure they were doing what they'd been told. 

 

“Do you really think Enjolras is going to be the one to notice the other?” Courfeyrac laughed at the idea that Enjolras might even have the slightest bit of emotional intelligence. 

 

“No, no I suppose not,” Combeferre mused, “though Grantaire isn’t exactly in touch with his own emotions let alone those of other people.”

 

“He’ll get it, eventually.” Courfeyrac grimaced, “I hope he will anyway.”

 

“We might have to see Eponine,” Combeferre bumped their shoulders.

 

“Ach, god please no,” Courfeyrac almost trembled, though he wouldn’t give Eponine the satisfaction.

 

“Come off it, she’s not so scary,” Combeferre sighed, “we’ll need to stop at Tortuga at some point.”

 

“The Captain was adamant that we needn’t this time,” Courfeyrac turned to Combeferre again, “said that we’d not need to stop anywhere till we made port in Nassau again.”

 

“Marius fumbled the count of the barrels, we’re three short, the only place to get more of that stuff is Tortuga.” Combeferre shrugged. 

 

“Cap’n is not going to be best pleased, Marius will have to go down there and explain the incident himself. I sure as heck ain’t gonna be doing it myself.” Courfeyrac sighed, “wish we’d left that stowaway with Eponine.”

 

“You were the one who wanted him,” Combeferre laughed. 

 

“Only cause he was pretty to look at,” Courf pouted. 

 

“You’re a bloody menace, you are,” Combeferre smacked him upside his head, “I am going to go find that lazy lout and make him report to Enjolras.”

 

"He's not lazy just, a little..." Courf tried for the words to describe Marius.

 

"Hopeless," Combeferre remarked dryly. 

 

Courfeyrac tipped back his head and laughed at the idea of awkward, bumbling Marius going to Enjolras with his tail between his legs. The sails above him flapped and the rigging creaked in the wind, the sea sprayed him with salt and the sun baked him dry but he was the happiest he’d been in long time, there sailing across the waves. The sun floating down behind horizon, he’d have to navigate by the stars, Enjolras had his compass; he didn’t mind though, he usually preferred to navigate that way and the sky was blissfully clear. The setting sun stained the sky red, gold, purple, and orange as it died, the moon was already visible, in front of him; the ship was moving faster now. He glanced over the side to see the foam and spray off the waves, it looked as though they were going at a steady seven knot pace, they shouldn’t be too long in getting to Tortuga. He saluted Jehan who was up in the Crow’s Nest, Prouvaire sat on the rail with his legs dangling over the side of the nest; Courf sorely hoped that he had secured himself there. The sun got lower and lower to the horizon, before it started to dip beneath the surface of the water and still Courfeyrac stood at the helm, keeping them on a steady course. 

 

“Sails!” Prouvaire called from the nest.

 

“Are they friendly?” Courf shouted back.

 

“Can’t see neither way,” Jehan stood up, climbing the last little bit of rigging to get a better look, “wait, aye they’re flying the black.”

 

“Raise ours, hail them over, weigh anchor and close down the t’gallons, shut the jib and bowsprit; and someone get Enjolras and Combeferre out here on the poop deck. Be ready to flee at my word men. Canons stand ready.” Courfeyrac watched as the deck, which had been relatively peaceful, sudden swarmed with men as they sweated to carry out his commands.

 

“They’re sitting low, sir; their black says it’s Hornigolds’ fleet.” Jehan called as the other ship moved closer to them.

 

“They will have taken a prize recently, probably on the way to Tortuga themselves,” Enjolras walked up the stairs to the main deck, putting his hat on head, Courf smiled when he saw that his captain looked better rested than he had done earlier. 

 

“Ah so you’ve heard then?” Courfeyrac chuckled.

 

“Marius is on deck scrubbing duty for the remainder of the voyage,” Enjolras sighed, “why couldn’t you have left him with Eponine?”

 

“Too pretty for a life in Tortuga, never know what would have happened to him there,” Courfeyrac gave Enjolras a pointed look. 

 

“Hmmph,” Enjolras grumbled, “someone go below and alert the men there that we may have a problem.”

 

“Hornigold wouldn’t give us a problem, she's only a sloop, we’ve what, fifty guns on her?” Courfeyrac looked to Combeferre.

 

“Aye, Cap’n I’d doubt we’ll be finding an issue here.” Combeferre nodded, his low honey rich voice soothing the tension in the air, “Hornigold would have to be quite mad to try and take us with only a sloop.” 

 

“I still want the men below to know, to make sure they’re ready,” Enjolras shifted, turning a little red. 

 

“Aye, sir,” Combeferre shared a glance with Courfeyrac, the tilt of his head saying everything that needed to be said; Enjolras turned back to watching Hornigold’s sloop with a grumble. 

 

The small ship crossed the waves quickly, catching the man of war with ease; Enjolras watched as Benjamin Hornigold waved to him from his ship’s main deck. Enjolras tensed, ready to signal to Courf the minute his instincts told him to. He nodded back to Hornigold, taking off his hat and waving to offer parley; Hornigold accepted and within the minute or so, he was on the deck of Enjolras’s ship being waved inside his cabin. 

 

“Benjamin,” Enjolras smiled, “tea? Coffee? Rum?” He asked, as common courtesy dictated. 

 

“This is no social visit, Monsieur Enjolras,” Hornigold’s weathered face turned into a scowl, his bushy grey eyebrows knitting together, “not at all, there’s an issue around these here waters, we have been stationed to warn all ships away from this route to Tortuga.”

 

“Oh?” Enjolras raised his eyebrow, sitting opposite Hornigold. “Why ever so?”

 

“The Scarborough, Monsieur,” Hornigold’s pale eyes widened, his face turning gravely serious. “She’s been prowling these waters for the last few days, taking ships and crews on their way to Tortuga. We’re here so no one else gets caught. She also took The Charioteer just off Nassau, not much more than a week back.” 

 

“I know about that, we’ve taken her captain on as our cook.” Enjolras nodded, “Is The Scarborough following official orders, or is this her captain’s pet plan?”

 

“All the intelligence that we have managed to gather, not that it is extensive by any means, suggests that she is acting on directorders from King George himself.” Hornigold shook his head, “in all honesty, Monsieur, there is very little we can do, I think. There’s been unrest in the British Colonies in America you’ll know, rumours of a revolution; George is getting nervous and doesn’t want savages impeding England’s passage in the Atlantic. Nothing to do about it, I fear for all of us of New Providence.” 

 

“There is always something you can do, it’s just whether or not you have the courage to do what is right rather than what is simple.” Enjolras smiled and poured himself a finger of rum, “are you sure you don’t want for rum, Benjamin?”

 

“Ah, actually, now you mention it, I wouldn’t mind a finger or two,” Hornigold smiled, taking the glass Enjolras handed him and sighing when the amber liquid passed his lips. 

 

“I thought as much, tell me, when was The Scarborough last seen?” Enjolras asked sipping his rum.

 

“About half a league away from here, in the South south easterly direction,” Hornigold waved his hand in that general direction. 

 

“I think it is time that her captain and I had a conversation about who is really in charge in these waters. I mean, no one else is going to do it; one word of the English and every other pirate captain runs from the water with their tails between their legs.” Enjolras scoffed, looking Hornigold right in the eye. 

 

“Aye well, not every pirate captain has a man of war with full guns at their disposal.” Hornigold sniffed. 

 

“Oh, I know that, but every pirate captain should defy the English as much as possible.” Enjolras smiled, toasting Hornigold and tossing back the remainder of his rum. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’ve an English warship to hunt down.” 

 

“Ah the hunted hunting the hunter,” Hornigold said, “make sure you do not become the prey again, Monsieur.” The other pirate captain stood and walked to where the gang plank connected the two ships.

 

“I’ll make sure not to,” Enjolras waved Hornigold back to his vessel; he turned to find Courfeyrac and Combeferre looking at him, Grantaire stood beside them, his face was grim.

 

“I was thinking about what you said when Ferre told me about Hornigold being aboard,” Grantaire grunted, “I thought I’d come up to hear what he had to say.”

 

“Yes, though this is a conversation better had in my cabin.” Enjolras waved the other three into his rooms, putting Feuilly in charge. He sat down behind his desk, letting the others take up their positions around the room. “Hornigold informed me that The Scarborough has been waiting to ambush pirate ships going to Tortuga using this route. We and she are fairly evenly matched in terms of guns, and size of our crew, though there’s a few things we have that she does not.” 

 

“Oh and what do we have that the most successful ship in the whole of the English Navy does not?” Grantaire laughed. 

 

“This crew.” Enjolras said simply, shrugging his shoulders, “I have never seen nor heard of a more loyal, more impassioned crew in all my years on the account.” 

 

“Be that as it may, I don’t think going up against The Scarborough will play out in our favour,” Grantaire looked at Combeferre.

 

“I am inclined to agree with R, on this,” Combeferre pushed his glasses further up his nose, “I think pushing for a fight with The Scarborough at the present would not be the best idea, not for the crew and not for the ship.” 

 

“Courfeyrac, what do you think?” Enjolras took in what Grantaire and Combeferre said with a grim expression on his face.

 

“I think that putting it to a vote is perhaps the best way of going about this. Let the crew decide what they wish to do; whether or not they want to risk fighting The Scarborough, given what’s at stake if we loose.” Courf spoke to Enjolras, meeting his eyes directly. “You know that’s what the crew would ask you to do.”

 

“I know-“ Enjolras turned to Grantaire “-do you agree?”

 

“I do,” Grantaire nodded, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, “it sounds like an agreeable solution.”

 

“Good, right, we’ll put it to a vote then. Though the crew should be aware that not fighting The Scarborough may result in rationing the food.” Enjolras said, “Marius could tell them that.” 

 

“Don’t make the kid more scared than he already is, Enjolras, I swear he nearly shat himself,” Courfeyrac sniggered.

 

“Fine, fine.” Enjolras nodded waving a hand and taking a piece of parchment from his desk drawer, “I’ll write down something for you to say, Ferre. Courf if you go and round up the crew then we can get this over with.” Enjolras waved the other two out of his office. “‘Taire, if you could stay that would be great.” 

 

“Sure,” Grantaire shrugged and stayed where he was, letting Courf and Ferre file past him. 

 

“I wanted to apologise,” Enjolras kept scribbling down what he wanted Combeferre to tell his men, he didn't look at Grantaire, he couldn’t look at Grantaire. “My words earlier, they were insensitive, I should have thought of you before I spoke. I’m sorry.” 

 

“Right. Well.” Grantaire stood, shifting from foot to foot, he laughed a little, a short strangled gasping laugh. “That’s- yeah- good, I’ll just.”  


“Wait, I wanted you know, I really am sorry. I never thought that my words would hurt you, as a captain I try to make it my business to know what to say to my crew; I let you down this time and it wasn’t good enough.” Enjolras put the dip pen down in it’s holder and, bracing himself, looked at Grantaire.

 

“Okay, well, thank you.” Grantaire gave Enjolras a small but seemingly genuine smile. “I should go and help Courf round up the crew.” R ducked out of the cabin leaving Enjolras alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments on this fic have been in incredible, I just want to thank each and every one of you for inspiring me to keep writing!! 
> 
> One thing, someone commented on chapter two (I think) calling Enjolras something very transphobic. I am a trans man myself, and I will not stand for any kind of transphobia, racism, or homophobia in the comments of this fic. If you comment something like this, I will report you. Thanks!! 
> 
> Come and yell at me on tumblr on my main blog: @obi-wan-kxnxbi -- Please reblog the story on tumblr, I'm uploading it to there as well!!
> 
> and follow my les mis blog: @jeune-et-joly
> 
> Next update coming on Friday!! <3 <3


	5. Some rum for your life story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings... so many feelings...

Enjolras watched as Grantaire left, the tails of his green coat disappearing behind the door, the ripples in the glass making only his vague outline visible. He took what he had written and climbed out of the windows at the back of his cabin, leaning on the rails just outside of his room. The sea was far below him, shrouded in shadow as the sun set, a blue void that no longer glittered or looked warm. He let the wind run through his hair for a few moments, and listened to the waves as they lapped against the boat, he took a deep breath and stepped back into his cabin. He grabbed therest of the parchment off his desk and walked out of the room. 

 

The decks were bursting with people, the gun crews, riggers, and other members of his crew all crowded on to the main deck. In the middle of the mob stood Combeferre, he looked intimidating even to Enjolras, with his twin cutlasses strapped to his back alongside four different pistols and a long sword at his waist. He stood at the centre of the crowd completely at ease, he smiled lazily knowing that in less than a few moments every man would be listening to him, expectantly, as the quartermaster he was the bridge between the captain and the crew. Enjolras strode up to him and handed him the parchment, receiving a lazy nod and grin in return, Enjolras took his place on the poop deck and waited for Combeferre to begin. 

 

The results of the vote came in; they were going nowhere near The Scarborough. Enjolras wasn’t disappointed per sae, he was more tired after running on the adrenaline the prospect of a fight had pumped through his veins. Grantaire looked relieved, as did most of the men. Courfeyrac looked as though he’d had the captain of The Scarborough snatched and killed from under him. Enjolras stepped off the poop deck when Grantaire caught him around his elbow. 

 

“I just wanted to say thank you, you know, for apologising and for listening to Courf about the vote.” R looked at him.

 

“I uh, its okay.” Enjolras smiled at Grantaire, a little in shock, “did you want to come to my cabin, for a drink I mean.”

 

“A drink? Me and you?” Grantaire looked Enjolras up and down, his eyes flicking to Enjolras’s lips before they fixed themselves on the mizzen mast. “I mean, if we can refrain from killing each other then I don’t see why not.” 

 

“I’m sure we can manage,” Enjolras gave Grantaire a small smile, and lead the way to his rooms. “I’m sure you’re happy the men decided to side with you.” 

 

“I am simply happy not to watch another ship I am inclined to call home, get destroyed,” Grantaire smiled wryly, fixing Enjolras with his green eyes. Enjolras decided then and there that there was no colour in the whole world as wonderful as that. 

 

“Of course, I cannot imagine what it must have been like for you.” 

 

“It was rather awful,” Grantaire gave a humourless laugh. 

 

The sea lapped against the boat as Enjolras lead Grantaire to his cabin, his heart thrumming in his chest. The sails flapped in the wind, as the ship sailed the long way round to Tortuga. Enjolras opened the door to his cabin, wondering if he still had that bottle of Grantaire’s favourite whisky. The cabin was warm, so Enjolras opened the french doors that lead out onto the tiny balcony; Grantaire took up his old position in the armchair that Enjolras usually read in. He lounged like a cat, his leg hooked over one of the arm rests, his head leant against one of the wings; his arms crossed with his hands behind his head. His curly hair tumbled down to his shoulders about a fifth of it was plaited and the braid mingled in with the rest of the unruly mop. He was looking better than he had done since Enjolras had found him tied to his mast. 

 

“How’s your leg? You seem to walk a lot better on it, has it healed?” Enjolras walked over to the drinks cabinet and searched through the bottles there, he was trying to keep his hands busy so his mind wouldn’t wander through his feelings about Grantaire. 

 

“It works well enough, though I fear my days of sneaking up on people are gone. I’d forgotten how good the people on this ship are, you know, all the men have helped me in some way shape or form. You have a good crew, Enjolras.” Grantaire spoke, his voice low and warm, his words curling through the air, his smile seeming to light the place further. 

 

“Aye, I’ve got them well trained, I think,” Enjolras nodded, “it’s good to have you back though, it always felt like something was missing, after you left.” 

 

“Combeferre told me the same thing,” Grantaire’s green eyes flickered over Enjolras, “he said that you told him the same thing. When I first came back and thought no one here wanted me, when I thought you’d only taken me in out of some sense of nostalgia. He said that you’d sat up on the crow’s nest for a week after you’d left me at Nassau. Did you really? Or was he just trying to make me feel better?” 

 

“I did. I needed to think. I didn’t take you in out of nostalgia. I did it because you are my brother, because I’ve known you for longer than half the men on this boat and I think that counts for something.” Enjolras sat opposite Grantaire, handing him a glass of honey rum. 

 

“I see,” Grantaire took a sip, “mighty fine rum, where’d you steal it from?”

 

“Some English bastard off the coast of Virginia,” Enjolras grinned. 

 

“Good man. This is the first civil conversation we’ve had in a while,” Grantaire pointed out, unfurling himself from the chair and wandering around Enjolras’s cabin. “I rather missed talking to you when all we did was argue. Then when I was captaining _The Charioteer_ I missed even arguing with you.” He stopped by Enjolras’s desk, looking at the maps and charts that covered it, he riffled through them. “I was so caught up in wanting to be captain of a ship, that I forgot about my friends and about you.” Grantaire looked into his glass, swirling the amber liquid round before taking a large gulp of it and looking at Enjolras. “It wasn’t just my fault, the way we parted, you were an ass but, I was a right prick to you and to this crew so for that I’m sorry.” 

 

“You’re right-“

 

“Wait. Hold that thought I need witnesses.” Grantaire grinned but he didn’t move from where he stood, behind Enjolras’s desk.

 

“If I may?” Enjolras raised an eyebrow, Grantaire nodded and sat down in Enjolras’s desk chair, “You’re right, I was an ass. I thought what I was doing was best for the crew, but I think I also refused to admit that part of me just wanted to be captain. I let my ambition cloud my judgement; I realise that I hurt you for that I apologise.” 

 

“Could you write that down?” Grantaire said, brandishing a quill and parchment, “Only if I tell anyone what you just said they’re likely to not believe me.” 

 

“I thought we were having a sincere moment, a confession, and yet,” Enjolras’s face was deadpan, but his voice bore no bite; Grantaire smiled again and got up moving to the chair by the fire.

 

“Do you remember the day we met?” Grantaire said, drinking more rum and kicking his legs up on the side table. “The day I was brought from the merchant navy ship to yours because I could cook and mend sail?” 

 

“I remember, there was a terrible storm. Your ship was rolling about all over, the mizzen had failed or something; we pulled up alongside pretending to offer assistance. Killed all the crew but you and the doctor.” Enjolras nodded. “I remember your face; you had a cut going down your cheek, blood was soaking into your necktie but you never flinched or cried out as the doctor poured rum into it. I remember you tripping me up when I came into the galley, then you reached out your hand and pulled me to my feet, you told me your name and offered me an apple.” 

 

“I was fourteen years old. I only joined the merchant navy to get me to Delaware. I was going to run as soon as we made port. I’d an aunt in Elizabethtown, New Jersey, my mum died not two months before. I was shitting myself, and I knew I needed friends,just didn't know how to make them very well. Suddenly I was signing my life away with a pistol to my head, then I was told to go and help Cook with supper; then you were there and all I could see was the gold in your hair. I didn't know what to do, so I tripped you up to buy me some time.” Grantaire laughed, small wrinkles appearing at the sides of his eyes, his nose scrunched up the way it did when he was happy. 

 

“You tripped me to buy you time,” Enjolras repeated shaking his head.

 

“I told you I had no idea what I was doing,” Grantaire shrugged and continued with his story, “I gave you the apple cause it was all I had, save for the clothes on my back and the knife in my boot. I told you my name and you told me yours and then you introduced me to Courf and Ferre but I only had eyes for you, I only had time for you. From then on, I think, I knew wherever you were I’d go, only cause I don't think I could live for long without you. Then we fought, and I was so angry, but in the end I suppose I proved myself right. I’d have died on that ship with my crew if you hadn't found me.”

 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said his heart swelling and rising and he wasn’t quite sure what his head was doing but it certainly wasn’t keeping up with the emotions running through him.

 

“I know, it’s stupid,” Grantaire huffed out a laugh and scratched the back of his neck.

 

“Its not stupid, it’s quite cute, actually,” Enjolras smiled.

 

“Cute!? Me? Never,” Grantaire looked utterly scandalised, his eyes went wide, and his mouth hung open.

 

“You have your moments, ‘Taire,” Enjolras nudged Grantaire, and grinned, just to see the others reaction. It was worth it.

 

“I am a fearless, lawless, terrifying, dangerous, outlaw, brigand, pirate, I am not cute,” Grantaire sniffed, scrunching his nose up.

 

“Of course you are, R,” Enjolras laughed, drinking his rum as Grantaire listed the ways in which he was not cute. 

 

They sat in the chairs next to each other, laughing and drinking together, something they had not done in the time since Grantaire had left the Ami. Enjolras found he had indeed missed Grantaire’s company, when they were getting along, the time spent together was quite pleasant and Enjolras found himself wondering why they had not spent time together earlier.

 

“I barely know a thing about you,” Enjolras blurted out, “I mean, I know the basics, of course I do, but apart from that; we managed to be friendly for a few years without me ever even knowing where you were from.”

 

“Well, there’s not really much to tell, if I’m honest,” Grantaire coughed, looking at Enjolras as if he’d grown a second head. “Why the sudden interest?”

 

“I find myself quite enjoying your presence, then I asked myself why we did not do this more often if we were friends; then I thought about you and the fact that I do consider you a friend, but that I know where Courfeyrac and Combeferre, and Joly, and Feuilly are all from yet, I don’t even know where you came from before that merchant ship.” Enjolras tried to ignore the blush he could feel winding its way up his neck to his cheeks. 

 

“I was born in Bordeaux, but my mother moved us over to Calais, then to England not long after that. My sister died on the crossing, her name was Emilie, she had hair like mine but eyes like my father. I don’t know what happened to her, only that she was fine one day and then dead the next. Mother wasn't the same after that. She kept moving us from one place to the next, one month we were in London, the next we were in Manchester, the next we were in Bristol. Eventually she stopped moving, just outside Bristol, there was this tiny little village, I can’t even remember it’s name. Then two years later she was dead, and I joined the merchant navy, got myself a place aboard a ship headed for Delaware, and you know the rest.” 

 

“I- I’m sorry about your sister,” Enjolras stared at Grantaire, all the mirth and humour had left him suddenly, flying out of him like birds from a tree. “What about your father? Is he still around? Or is he?”

 

“He’s somewhere in York City, I think, that’s the last place I heard. He’s a shit stain, not worth even trying to contact him. He never bothered, even when mother wrote him saying that his daughter was dead, the only thing he said was ‘I suppose you don’t need as much money if there’s only the boy left?’. That was it, his child was dead and that was all he could say. I’d rather him be dead than my mother.”Grantaire scoffed. 

 

“I’m so sorry, I’d no idea,” Enjolras looked at Grantaire, the cynicism and the sarcasm all made sense, the unwillingness to believe in the fundamental goodness of mankind. “Why did you never tell me?”

 

“You never asked, you were always too busy trying to change the world,” Grantaire looked up at Enjolras, their eyes met in the orange glow from the fire.

 

“I’m sorry for not asking you,” Enjolras gave Grantaire a tiny, soft smile. “You must have had things you liked to do as a child, hobbies?” 

 

Grantaire smiled back, his face lighting up and his eyes growing bright, “I did.” He said, “I did, I used to love to play the violin.” He waved his arms around in a vague gesture. “It was shitty and a little bit broken, but I had one of my own, I’d sit and play it for hours, even though mother only had enough money for six months of lessons.” 

 

“Seems as though, instead of being a pirate crew, this ship should have become a travelling band on musicians,” Enjolras deadpanned, “between Courfeyrac’s singing, Combeferre’s cello, Feuilly being a master at the hurdy-gurdy, and uh me on the harpsichord. I reckon we’d have pretty good shot at making it.”

 

“I’m going to need to see Feuilly playing the hurdy-gurdy now, I didn’t he could play,” Grantaire laughed, his eyes lighting up and a grin taking over his face. “I didn't know you played?” Interest took over Grantaire’s face.

 

“Ah yes,” Enjolras nodded, “my father was rather insistent on me sitting down to play whenever we got a moment. Cosette can play the viola so it was only right to make me play something to accompany her.” Enjolras shrugged. 

 

“I’d love to hear you play sometime,” Grantaire’s eyes flickered up and down the length of Enjolras’s body, settling on his lips; Enjolras licked his tongue across the seem unconsciously. 

 

“Only if I get to hear you play the violin,” Enjolras said. 

 

“Of course, though I am currently in want of one,” Grantaire gestured down at him, “since the charioteer sunk I don’t even have a change of clothes.”

 

“Wait, what?” Enjolras turned scandalised eyes onto him, looking him up and down, “you can use the ship’s budget, go and buy yourself something decent in Tortuga.”

 

“I couldn't use the ship’s budget for clothes, it’s meant for food and rum, what’ll the others say?” Grantaire looks at Enjolras shaking his head.

 

“Joly will probably be grateful that you’re not going to be unclean, Jehan will be excited and insist that he comes with you and the others would have offered you the clothes off their backs; don’t you deny it. I’m doing you a favour because the other people out there would get angry at you for not telling me or Ferre sooner.” Enjolras said, gruffly standing up and walking to where the coins were kept. “Now I’ve got twenty pieces of gold and a pearl necklace that you could trade for a good suit, but I doubt you’ll be needing another coat. A shirt, a pair of breeches and some stockings should see you through; the rest you can accumulate for yourself. Also take this and trade it in for a violin while you’re at it,” Enjolras handed Grantaire a sack of gold.

 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire croaked, “I can’t.”

 

“Its not mine, its all the ship’s stuff; we don’t spend it on much and we’ve taken so many prizes in the last few months that we have so much surplus. You with clean clothes and a violin is far more beneficial to the crew than some gold sitting in my cabin.”

 

“I- alright,” Grantaire sighed and took the money, knowing that Enjolras was not going to take no for an answer. 

 

“Before you go off shopping though, I have a favour to ask of you when we drop into port.” Enjolras made his way back to the chair near the fire, looking down at Grantaire. 

  
“Hmm?” Grantaire looked up at Enjolras through his lashes, turning away too soon to see the other’s reaction.

 

“I need you to come and see Eponine with me.” Enjolras watched Grantaire closely. 

 

“I don’t know…” Grantaire grimaced, “she and I, we don’t really get along so well.” 

 

“But you’re the only person who she really trusts,” Enjolras said.

 

“Not after last time,” Grantaire muttered. 

 

“R, please. She forgave you for that, and Gavroche was alright in the end.” Enjolras pleaded, “you are truly the only person she trusts. I need you with me on this.” 

 

“Is that an order?” Grantaire said, and Enjolras knew the tone of voice R had taken, he knew it meant that R was gunning for a fight.

 

“No, it’s not,” Enjolras shook his head, “it’s a request as a friend I am asking you to do this favour for me.”

 

“I see.” Grantaire looked vaguely surprised. “Alright.”

 

“So you’ll see her with me?” Enjolras asked, wanting to make sure he’d heard right.

 

“Yes, yes I’ll go to Eponine with you.” Grantaire shrugged, “I did say I’d black your boots, this is not as bad.” 

 

“Thank you, ‘Taire,” Enjolras leant a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly, Grantaire couldn't help but bathe in the warmth the gesture emitted, letting himself believe for one moment that Enjolras truly like him. “I know what you’re thinking, you’ve got that look on your face. I _do_ like you, Grantaire.” 

 

“Oh, I- I-“ Grantaire looked at Enjolras, his blond hair tied up in a queue; his red and gold waistcoat, his skin shone a little in the light of the fire, his angular face with shadows under his cheekbones and felt himself fall again. “Okay.” He finished lamely.

 

“Enje?” Courfeyrac poked his head around the door frame, “Ferre wants you both on deck, we’re going to pull into Tortuga soon. Also the crew need to have something to eat.”

 

“Can’t they just get something from the inns, there’ve got to be hundreds in Tortuga,” Grantaire moaned, settling into the armchair more.

 

“Ah, no,” Courfeyrac grinned, “Bahorel threatened to come in here and take you to the galley himself, and Feuilly refuses to go down there anymore, also Joly is starting to worry his humours are out of balance because he’s not had dinner, so you know there’s that…”

 

“Ugh,” Grantaire moaned again.

 

“Go and do your job,” Enjolras said, standing up and grasping on to Grantaire’s hand, “come on you.” 

 

“Fine,” Grantaire sang, standing up and walking with Enjolras and Courfeyrac out of the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you continue to enjoy this story!!
> 
> Come and yell at me on tumblr on my main blog: @obi-wan-kxnxbi -- Please reblog the story on tumblr, I'm uploading it to there as well!!
> 
> and follow my les mis blog: @jeune-et-joly


	6. Tortuga.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Eponine the scariest person in the world, and Gavroche the scariest nine year old in the world.

They sailed into the bayside city that was Tortuga later that evening' both Grantaire and Enjolras were on deck, standing near the helm. Tortuga was much like a lawless sister to New Providence, where the island Enjolras and his crew called home had some semblance of a government, Tortuga had none. She was a fierce beast, and no one could tame her; it took the toughest of the tough to survive on her back, and the even tougher to thrive. This is what made Eponine so incredible, she had built a business from nothing; she had come from nothing, less than nothing and now she was the most powerful person in the entire port. Enjolras was not ashamed to admit he was rather terrified of her, she was a fierce as she was small and though Enjolras had height and weight on his size he was still scared to offend her. Eponine could ruin a crew’s career, even more so than Cosette could; he was sure more than one captain had felt her wrath and never been the same. He shuddered as they pulled up to the jetty.

 

Tortuga was more of a slum town than an actual liveable place, Enjolras was sure every other building they passed was a brothel or a pub. Beggars and drunkards lined the streets and he was suddenly very grateful for Bahorel’s presence at his back. Torches burned softly in their brackets, sawdust and horse dung covered the streets masking the sound of their boots. Animals called out to one another from the trees and courtyards, people staggered around them, pickpockets, thieves and murderers.They walked down the street in a group, Enjolras, Grantaire, Combeferre and Bahorel; the others had gone to procure the rations the crew needed. He didn't need to see Eponine for rations, he needed her information, Eponine was known for having the largest ring of spies in the West Indies and Enjolras was not ashamed to be part of it.

 

Eponine lived in the upstairs of an inn, which also served as a prison and executioners yard; to get to her office they had to sidestep the clientele of the place, which hadn't improved since they’d last been there. Grantaire had a hand on his pistol, the other brushed against Enjolras’s lower back, letting Enjolras know exactly where he was at all times. Bahorel walked ahead, no one dared to even look at him wrong, seeing as how he was six foot five and built like a small building; Combeferre brought up the rear, he wasn’t physically imposing, not like Bahorel but the way he looked at potential threats, like he could cause them to spontaneously combust, generally stopped them in their tracks. Enjolras felt safe, not that he couldn't take care of himself, but it was nice to know he had some very good backup. The staircase was rickety and old, with a fair few chunks missing from it, they had to dodge holes in the wood and leap over stairs that were missing entirely. 

 

“Didn’t think you’d have the balls to come back ‘ere again,” said a voice from an alcove.

 

“Gavroche,” Enjolras stopped walking.

 

“Aye, Captain En-whatsyourface,” Gavroche grinned, coming out of the shadows.

 

“Aren’t you a little young to be hanging around here?” Enjolras raised his eyebrow.

 

“Aren’t you a little small to be hanging round here,” Gavroche quipped back.

 

“I’m taller than you,” Enjolras pouted.

 

“I’m nine,” Gavroche shrugged. “But one day I’m going to be taller than you.” 

 

“That’s what I’m here for, kiddo,” Bahorel laughed and swung Gavroche on to his shoulders. 

 

“Watch it!” Gavroche giggled as his head and torso poked out of the top of the crowd.

 

“Come on kid, is you’re sister in,” Grantaire asked.

 

“R! Didn’t see you there,” Gavroche brightened before he seemed to remember something and his face dropped a little, “she’s in alright. She’s upstairs.”

 

“Great, well, we’ll leave you two here. Make sure he doesn’t try to stowaway, Bahorel, Eponine would have my head if he did.” Enjolras said, walking past Bahorel and Gavroche on his way up the stairs.

 

“You’d be lucky, she usually takes something else,” Gavroche put his elbow on top of Bahorel’s head and rested his chin on it.

 

“Somehow, I doubt that would be possible for me,” Enjolras laughed and walked the rest of the way up the stairs, Grantaire and Combeferre following just behind.

 

“Come on Gav, let’s go and find some trouble to get into,” Bahorel grinned and tottered off down the steps with Gavroche on his shoulders.

 

“That kid,” Grantaire sighed, “he’s going to be a nightmare when he’s older.” 

 

“He’s not had it easy,” Combeferre said in a low voice, coughing slightly as he did so.

 

“None of us have though,” Grantaire pointed out, shrugging.

 

“We can’t talk, we’re pirates, lot of people had it worse and are still keeping within the realms of the law,” Enjolras said laughing a little. 

 

“Aye, but we’re pirates with a cause,” Grantaire grinned.

 

“Oh, so you do believe in something then,” Enjolras quipped looking over at Grantaire, taking his eyes off the crowd.

 

“Never said what my cause was,” Grantaire flushed, his cheeks and neck turning a deep pink.

 

“If you two lovebirds could tear yourselves away from each other for one minute, we’re here,” Combeferre muttered into Enjolras’s ear, making him shiver.

 

They were indeed in front of the battered green door that lead in to Eponine’s office, paint was peeling off it in flakes, revealing the wood beneath; there were several empty bottles and tankards left lying around the place, as well as used plate with crumbs on. The door was so plain it did not do anything to give away the power that radiated from the woman behind it. Enjolras took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, he glanced at Grantaire who looked like he felt. 

 

“She’s going to ask you to tell her everything,” he whispered, his hand brushing R’s.

 

“I know,” Grantaire said grimacing his eyes clouding. 

 

“I did bring the log books, maybe that will be enough,” Combeferre stood behind them still, his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder.

 

“It won’t be,” Grantaire sighed, brushing Enjolras’s back; hoping that the previous gesture had been on purpose. 

 

“You’ll be fine,” Enjolras said confidently opening the door and walking through into the dark room.

 

Eponine sat behind a large oak desk, a candelabra dripping wax on to the wood in front of her; there was a dipping pen by her left hand and huge book open in the middle, the pages lifting up where they were open to. She sat, not looking at them at first, with one knee crossed over the other; a glass of wine in her right hand; her left being used to keep the book open. A man in the corner of the room was playing the piano forte there, Enjolras had no idea where she had even found a piano forte; it hadn’t been there the last time he had. The man looked wizened and old, he had a hooked nose and a tricorn hat, a dirty cravat hung down from his wrinkled neck; his hands had dirt underneath his fingernails he looked almost evil in the flickering light of the oil lamp next to him. Enjolras looked away from him, trying not to think about what happened to those who ended up in Eponine’s debt.

 

“Enjolras, my darling,” Eponine’s mouth curled around the french as she spoke, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“I need your help,” Enjolras looked at her in the eyes. She wore a green dress with black lace, a line of lavender was tattooed down her cheek, ending in a spider’s web on the back of her neck only just visible where her hair was tied up. She leaned forward in her chair, her fingers catching under her chin, a wide grin spreading across her cheeks. 

 

“And what do you have for me in return, dearest,” She said looking him up and down, her accent curled around the air like smoke from a candle.

 

“Information, about a certain British ship,” Enjolras smiled and walked forward. “She attacked a mutual friend of ours, I just happened to rescue him and bring him with me here today.”

 

“I see, so The Scarborough is back in the West Indies, why does that affect me?” Eponine’s face betrayed nothing about what she was thinking, it never did, though Enjolras could see through her eyes that she was turning over the news in her mind. 

 

“Because, she attacked Grantaire, and Grantaire only. The other ships she chased lost her; The Scarborough doesn't just loose people.” Enjolras sat down in the chair opposite her desk, looking at her, he knew he had her hooked. 

 

“So, she’s going after my oldest friend. You said you brought him,” Eponine’s face flickered, a line of worry appeared across her brow.

 

“I did,” Enjolras beckoned Grantaire forward. 

 

“Hi, Ep,” Grantaire’s brow was furrowed deeply as he walked forward, the metal leg clunking against the wood floor as he did so.

 

“‘Taire,” Eponine breathed, her brown eyes widening and her lips hanging open slightly, “the Scarborough did this to you?”

 

“Yes,” Grantaire’s voice sounded different in French, more natural; he seemed more comfortable, his lips found the words more easily, though Enjolras had almost forgotten that they were still speaking in it. “It’s been a while, Eponine.”

 

“I heard you were made captain,” Eponine smiled. “I hoped you’d come and visit but you stopped coming here.”

 

“I couldn’t, not after Azelma,” Grantaire shifted, his leg making the movement stilted and awkward, like it was cut off in the middle. 

 

“That was not your fault,” Eponine said, moving out from behind the desk and stroking her hand down the side of Grantaire’s face, “god, R, that was not your fault.” 

 

“It wasn’t? I don’t remember anyone else watching as she coughed up lungful after lungful of blood; I should have stopped it, I could have done something,” Grantaire sounded like nothing less or more than a broken man as his voice cracked around the words, he had a faraway look in his eyes and Enjolras knew he was reliving every single moment. 

 

“Stop that,” Eponine said, going back to sit behind her desk, “I don’t blame you, and you shouldn’t blame you. Azelma was a sickly girl, if the consumption didn’t get her something else would have.” Eponine broke off, taking a deep breath, which shook slightly. “Now, tell me about the Scarborough.”

 

And Grantaire did, his voice was steady but he had to sit in the chair next to Enjolras, their legs pressed together so that Enjolras could feel the heat of R through his clothes. At one point Enjolras considered putting his hand on R’s, it was shaking so hard on his leg, though he remembered that Eponine was sitting opposite them and Combeferre was there at his back so he resisted the urge. Eponine was sitting in her chair, stiff and unyielding, trying desperately to keep her anger under control, though her lips were pulled back in an almost snarl and there was a muscle in her jaw that wouldn't stop twitching. Her shoulders shook with the sheer force of her anger; when Grantaire’s story got to the point where his leg had to be amputated she slammed her fist down on the desk.   
  
“That fucker!” She shouted, “he lost me in Boston so now he’s decided to come out here to fuck everything up.”

 

“Who? Who lost you in Boston?” Enjolras’s head snapped up, he was suddenly completely focussed on the conversation. 

 

“Woodes Rogers,” Eponine said, turning her gaze on him. “He was hunting me when I went to Boston eight months ago, I was looking for Dad, trying to find him for some money for Azelma. I had to cut the trip short, ‘cause that fucker caught up to me in a pub off the common; said he was looking for me.” Eponine growled the last part.

 

“So now he’s after ‘Taire,” Combeferre said, his low voice cutting through whatever words were about to come out of Enjolras’s mouth. “To get to you?”

 

“I would think so,” Eponine looked up at Combeferre, “I can’t think of another reason. I mean if they get me, then, I don’t mean to sound full of myself but, if they get me then Tortuga will fall. If Tortuga falls then-“

 

“It’s only a matter of time before Nassau falls as well,” Combeferre finished, looking directly down at Enjolras. “Once the British take Tortuga there’ll be nowhere safe for your family to hide. They’ll be vulnerable and exposed at New Providence.”

 

“Shit.” Enjolras said. 

 

“Yeah,” Grantaire coughed, he grabbed Enjolras’s hand and squeezed, seeming to not even think about it. Enjolras was glad to have something warm and physical keeping him from mentally spiralling into panic. “But it’ll be okay, cause Tortuga will never fall.”

 

“I’d hope not,” Eponine sniffed, “now then, you needed help?” 

 

“I need a loan,” Enjolras said, “an investment in me and my crew, if you will.”

 

“Oh?” Eponine seemed to relax a little, sitting back in her chair, her arms moving down to her sides. 

 

“Yes, there is a certain French ship headed for port in New Orleans, though we are running low on funds enough to pay the crew; I don’t want them to run out on me just before I’m about to take a prize.” Enjolras smiled, more comfortable now that they were discussing business and not the seemingly imminent destruction of his family. 

 

“And you’ll be wanting enough to pay the wages?” Eponine asked, raising her eyebrow, getting out her ink and book.

 

“Just until our latest prize is processed by Cosette and her team, we should have enough to pay you back in full when that’s all done.” Enjolras nodded, not noticing that Grantaire had still not let go of his hand. 

 

“I see, six hundred pieces of gold, that should do it?” Eponine looked at Enjolras, seeming to know exactly what he was asking for, the pieces of gold were not wages, they had plenty of money in the hold; they were bribes, he was going to bribe his crew and use them to go after the Scarborough. 

 

“I’ve some other business to discuss with you, alone, Captain Enjolras, if you boys don’t mind?” Eponine stood up and made to usher the other two out of the door. 

 

Enjolras was shocked by the sudden presence of cool air around his hand and thigh, as Grantaire stood to join Combeferre outside. 

 

“We’ll wait downstairs for you,” Combeferre looked at Enjolras before turning out of the door. 

 

“Don’t, go to the ship and make sure Marius didn't miscount the rations this time. Grantaire you can go to the tailors and get yourself some decent clothes, please,” Enjolras shook his head, gesturing out to the streets that bustled below him. 

 

“If you’re sure,” Combeferre looked at him strangely, “I supposed it would help if I was there to move the loading of the ship. Courfeyrac does tend to get distracted.” 

 

“Exactly; I am quite sure I can take care of myself,” Enjolras ushered them out the door.

 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Grantaire smiled as he and Combeferre walked down the creaking staircase towards the streets outside. 

 

“You’re going to use the gold as a bribe?” Eponine said turning around and facing Enjolras; she didn't bother walking to her desk, she just backed Enjolras up against the nearest wall.

 

“I am, yes,” Enjolras nodded, trying to not focus on the knife Eponine was holding against his throat. 

 

“If he dies because of what you decided to do, I swear to god, Enjolras he’s as good as my brother; if he dies I’ll fucking kill you.” Eponine pressed her knife into Enjolras’s throat so hard he could feel blood trickle down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. 

 

“Right, I think that’s well and truly understood. I’ll try not to get him killed then,” Enjolras coughed, and Eponine finally let him go.

 

“Don’t do something stupid just because you think you can, because when you do people get hurt; I might not sound like I care or something, but I do, not just about him. I care about you and your stupid crew of merry blockheads.” Eponine said, tapping Enjolras on his chest, “So I’ll-“

 

But she was cut off from whatever she was going to say as the Enjolras’s entire world caved in on its self. A canon ball ripped through the building, smashing the wooden frame; leaving a gaping hole in the wall facing the street. Wood and mortar exploded about him, as he and Eponine were sent crashing to the floor, he covered her with his body as much as possible. He could hear nothing but ringing and the sound of more explosions and canon fire happening throughout the town. He coughed through the smoke, trying to get his lungs to fill up with air and his eyes to see through the dust. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thanks for reading!! Things starting to heat up this chapter so I hope you're enjoying this!! Comments are always hugely appreciated so's kudos as well of course!! 
> 
> I know this chapter is short but next time things are going to get real so that should make up for it!!


	7. Woodes Rogers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yup. They would have passed a perfectly pleasant evening. Had. Shit. Not. Gotten. Real.

 

 

“Ep-“ his voice wouldn't work, he coughed again, phlegm coming up black.

 

“Fuck, Enjolras,” Eponine said, “we need to go.”

 

“Where?” Enjolras asked, looking around to see if the door was free. The building shook again, as a canon ball ripped through next door. 

 

“Cellar,” Eponine grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Grantaire, and the rest of your crew, they’re out there aren’t they?”

 

“They’ll be fine, they can all look after themselves,” he said, as they made their way through the door, but this time Enjolras wasn’t sure, this time his faith in his friends wavered ever so slightly. 

 

The cellar was mostly undamaged, the door was still intact, it was also hidden enough that anyone who didn't know the inn would likely miss it. However undamaged the cellar was, it was still miserable, dark and damp with some form of lichen growing on the walls. There was sawdust and straw floor, and two stools, as well about fifty barrels of rum and beer; there were some bits of smoked meat hanging from hooks. Noise filtered in from the streets above, as every other sense was cut off, Enjolras could do nothing but sit in the pitch black and listen to the screams and cries. He paced the length of the cellar ten times before he turned in the direction he supposed Eponine to be.

 

“I need to go,” he said, searching for her vague outline in the darkness, “I can’t stand not knowing who’s attacking us, or even if my crew is safe.”

 

“You know who it is,” Eponine told him, though he still couldn’t see her, he would wager anything on the look on her face. 

 

“Rogers, it’s the Scarborough,” Enjolras nodded, the name surfacing to the front of his mind as he felt for the steps that lead to the pub. “I’ll make sure he’s safe, don’t worry, I’ll try and bring him down here.”

 

“They’re coming for me, maybe if they can’t find me, they’ll leave,” Eponine sighed. “Though just so you know I could totally fight my way out. Don’t feel guilty for leaving me or anything stupid like that.” 

 

“Of course, you could, Mademoiselle,” Enjolras smiled in the light from the fire that was slowly working its way up the street. 

 

“Don’t do anything stupid, Enjolras,” Eponine said before pushing him out of the door. 

 

The scene in front of him shook him to his very core, anarchy reigned supreme in Tortuga, the kind that only inspired terror in his heart. The town was ablaze, buildings crashing to the floor even as he watched; smoke curling its way up into the dread black sky and down the narrow alleys into his lungs. He coughed, pushing his hair out of his eyes, trying not to notice or think about the fact that his hand came away sticky and red. Now that he could sort of see, he looked down, inspecting himself for anything that needed to be taken care of before he waded into the fight; there was a small red flower blooming on his shirt, but no pain, he took that to mean he probably wasn’t going to die and walked out into the street. 

 

Red coats, hundreds of them, swarmed the main road; pirates fought them back but Enjolras knew that they stood little chance of victory and though he may have been an idealist, a believer in the cause, he knew that they would be wiser to get out then to live to fight another day. He searched for his crew, his friends desperately looking for them; trying to stay out the fight, he still ended up with a fair few wounds and many more injured men behind him. He tried not to think about the fact that most of those men were only in the army to pay off debts and provide for families back home; he tried not to think about the children without fathers, instead he kept running through the horror and fighting. There was no way to describe the dread that clouded every thought and action he took. His hand turned the handle of his sword sweaty. His breaths caught in his lungs. His brain fogged over. He still hadn’t found his crew, the men he had pledged his life to were somewhere out there in the mayhem that pervaded the streets and he didn't know if they were alive or dead. A whistle sounded close to his ear and he threw himself out of the way of a canon ball that sailed through where he had been standing. He covered his head and did his best not to get glass and dust in his eyes. 

 

After the building had stopped creaking alarmingly, he deemed it safe to get up; a piece of wood stuck worryingly out of his trouser leg, just above his boot, he tugged it and when he felt how shallow the wound was, he pulled it out. There was only the smallest trickle of blood coming from it, the wood must have only been a few centimetres stuck in his leg; he determined that it could wait until Joly looked at it later. He glanced around at the fighting, seeing people left and right, but not his crew, not his men. From where he was, he had a clear view of the harbour and the two men of war there, then he saw his ship fire on the Scarborough. The mizzen mast of the British ship fell, the sails and rigging tangling together and ripping apart. 

 

“Yes, Ferre,” he said, knowing a move like that would only be the result of his quartermaster. 

 

“Don’t worry, they’ll all be dead by dawn,” an English accent wound its way out of the dust and smoke. A shadow, barely a man stood in front of him, just slightly to the left. He was silhouetted against the raging fires and scenes of destruction. 

 

“I hope you mean your men, Monsieur Rogers,” Enjolras spoke in English, turning to face the man. 

 

“Very clever,” Woodes Rogers said, moving into the halo of light cast by one of the remaining lamps, “Captain Enjolras, I presume, they said you wouldn’t be hard to spot.” He had a sallow sort of face, though he was not ugly, broad shoulders and a lean body showed through his Admiral’s coat. His wig had obviously been lost sometime during the night, so had his tricorn hat. 

 

“I’m flattered, I can’t believe word of my great sense of fashion has found its way to England, Monsieur.” Enjolras thought the longer he could keep Rogers talking the more chance one of his men had of finding him there. 

 

“Please,” Rogers laughed, “Even Rackham had better taste than you. Did you hear what we did to him, and his crew?” 

 

“I heard,” Enjolras knew the fate that had befallen Calico Jack Rackham, he had been hanged in Spanish Town, Jamaica not too long ago.

 

“I’m glad you know, it is only right that a man get to glimpse his fate before it happens,” Rogers said, drawing his sword. “Am I also right in assuming that you will not go quietly?”

 

“That, Monsieur, is one of the only things you will ever be right about,” Enjolras held up his sword too, it had a legacy behind it, brave men fighting to the death; Enjolras hoped that he wouldn't become one of their number today. 

 

They circle each other, Enjolras never once taking his eyes off Woodes Rogers, he ignored the crunch of glass and wood under his feet and the crackling of the burning buildings surrounding him. He tramped down on the fear rising in his chest, and locked away the voice in his head telling him he was going to die; he refused to die without once telling Grantaire that he was falling for him, without telling Combeferre that he and Courfeyrac were the best friends a man could have. He refused to die before he felt truly free. He took control of his breathing, forcing his lungs to slow down, forcing himself to take in more air. The fog around his brain seemed to seep away and he could focus entirely on Rogers’ sword. A glint of lamplight on the silver blade was all the warning he got. Rogers lunged for his neck, aiming a swipe at his jugular, Enjolras brought his blade up to block even as he rolled away. He jumped over one of the beams of the ruined building, hoping that would buy him some time before the next attack. It didn’t. Rogers launched himself at Enjolras. He was going for the kill. Or, at least trying to maim Enjolras severely. Enjolras leaped this way and that avoiding as best he could, blocking where he needed to. He was fast, faster than Rogers, he didn’t have as much bulk to move around. He saw a split second opening and took it, jabbing his sword at Rogers’ stomach. Too late he noticed his mistake. His left side, the side he always seemed to forget about was left open and vulnerable. Rogers didn't miss it, he dodged and moved his leg under Enjolras’s to trip him. Before he knew it, Enjolras was on the floor, with Rogers’ sword at his throat. 

 

“Now, I suggest you get up and come with me,” Rogers said, taking Enjolras’s sword.

 

“No,” Enjolras looked up at him, straight in the eye. It was not the answer that Rogers was expecting; Enjolras could tell, apparently the man had different thoughts on how much Enjolras thought his life mattered. “You can’t kill me, you know.” He sniffed.

 

“And why not?” Judging by the way Rogers’ eyes widened, he was surprised; Enjolras laughed. 

 

“Because you’re only prepared to fight a leader; not a martyr.” Enjolras shrugged.

 

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because the next thing Enjolras knew his face was being crushed beneath Woodes Rogers’ boot and out of the corner of his eye he could see a sword swinging its way towards his hand. He braced himself. Knowing the pain would be paramount to nothing he had ever felt before. Knowing that he would loose the captaincy and likely the respect of most pirates in the West Indies. Enjolras breathed in as best he could with his face and throat being crushed. He could feel the cold steel blade at his wrist. And. Nothing. No pain. No blood. A clang of metal against metal and then metal against the ground. Rogers’ boot was gone from his face. 

 

“Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me, you sorry son of a bitch,” Grantaire was there, picking up Rogers’ sword. “This is quite nice, you know I think I’ll have it.” He hefted it in his grip once, and brought it slashing down across Rogers’ face. 

 

Rogers fell, still staring at Grantaire in shock, he fell down to his knees then pitched forward and laid there, still. Grantaire turned to Enjolras, who was still trying to catching his breath. Ash and smoke covered them like a blanket, so much so that they could hardly see each other’s faces. The pain crashed in to Enjolras like a runaway cart; it was an all over bodily ache combined with the sight of blood oozing out from various cuts all over him. Grantaire knelt down next to him, running his hands through Enjolras’s hair, and whispering things to him. There was a large cut in his wrist where Rogers’ sword had meant to slice through his hand. He knew that there were several other cuts, one on his chest, just above his bottom rib; it was deep he knew and bleeding enough to soak through his pistol belt. His head was spinning and he suddenly felt so tired; his eyes were drooping slowly shut. 

 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire tipped Enjolras’s chin up to get a better look at him, “shit.” 

 

Enjolras couldn't focus on anything apart from the clammy feeling that was slowly overtaking his senses, filling up his brain and making the world spin alarmingly. He couldn't seem to get his lungs to fill, like there was something on his chest, stopping from taking a full breath. To make things worse, he had no idea where he was, or what he had been doing. He knew Grantaire, and could see the scared look in the other’s eyes; he knew that that was not a good sign. 

 

“‘Taire, what’s going on?” He asked, gripping hold of Grantaire’s collar, trying to stabilise himself. 

 

“Nothing much,” Grantaire answered, picking Enjolras up and carrying him bridal style towards the harbour. 

 

“What happened?” Enjolras grew more insistent, but his eyes grew more and more glassy and his eyelids seemed to droop further. 

 

“I said, nothing much, you’ve got a bit of a cut; I’m taking you to Joly now,” Grantaire hefted him up further so that his head was resting against R’s chest. “You’re going to be just fine, I shouldn't worry,” but Grantaire’s voice was strained and his breathing was a little unsteady. 

 

“R, Eponine is in the cellar under the inn,” Enjolras whispered.

 

“Is she hurt, can you remember?” Grantaire asked, moving still but looking at Enjolras.

 

“Don’t think so,” Enjolras slurred his words and his body went limp as he passed out.

 

“Fuck.” Grantaire muttered as he kept moving towards the harbour. The sooner he got to Joly, the sooner Enjolras would be okay.

 

Getting on to the Ami was a trial, but Grantaire managed it; the ship sat low at the jetty so all he had to do was find a ladder and roll Enjolras on to the deck. The ship was not in it’s usual state of chaos; it appeared that the Scarborough had stopped firing and most of its crew had been captured. The Ami was quiet on deck, only five or six men wandered about, making minor repairs. Bossuet was sitting on a barrel, rum in his hand and a piece of cloth pressed to his head. He stood up when he saw Grantaire stagger on board. 

 

“Ranae, ‘Aire, what’s going on?”

 

“Someone decided it was a good idea to fight Woodes Rogers on top of a collapsed building,” Grantaire said more than just a hint of panic noticeable in his voice. 

 

“Right.” Bossuet pushed him aside and picked Enjolras up with more ease than Grantaire had. “I’ll get him to Joly, but you’re welcome to come with me.” 

 

“Thanks, L’Aigle, but no, I’d rather sit this one out. Just come and find me when he wakes up,” Bossuet’s eyes softened as Grantaire emphasised the “when”, though he didn't want pity. He remembered what Enjolras had said about Eponine being stuck in the basement of her inn; he also needed to go and kill Woodes Rogers, maybe he’d castrate the man for hurting Enjolras.“Just- just- tell Joly please, and let Ferre know.” He said before he was climbing back on to the jetty, unable to get the sight of Enjolras limp in Bossuet’s arms. 

 

The town was a mess, several buildings had collapsed, more were on fire. Dead men lay in the street, wives and children looking for them, every now and then R could hear the cry of a person in distress. His heart was in his mouth, hoping that no one he knew was among the dead; it would take a while to round up the whole crew after a battle on this scale, when they were more than likely spread around the whole town. He was passing a small alley when he saw Gavroche kneeling next to Bahorel, who looked as still as a stone, pale and unmoving. Grantaire froze for a moment then he saw Bahorel’s chest move up and down, he approached the pair. 

 

“It’s alright,” Gavroche said as soon as he Grantaire walk towards him. “He’s fine, just hurt his leg and couldn't walk. He fell asleep. Dunno how though, it was loud.” 

 

“He fell asleep?” Grantaire laughed, “that does sound like him I suppose.”

 

“Yeah, he said to wake him up when it was over,” Gavroche looked at Grantaire with wide, calculating eyes. “You seen my sister?” 

 

“Not yet, on my way to pick her up,” Grantaire said, “look kid, help me drag him further into this alley and hide him behind these barrels; then run to the ship and try and find a guy named Feuilly. He’s just about the only man strong enough to shift Bahorel when he gets like this.” 

 

“Oh yeah, and what’s in it for me?” Gavroche eye R up and down. 

 

“If you do it, I’ll give you two gold pieces,” Grantaire sighed.

 

“Five,” Gavroche said immediately, smiling his gap toothed smile.

 

“Three and you’ll take it or leave it,” Grantaire suppressed the strong urge he felt to cuff the boy round the head and be done with him.

 

“Aye aye, sir,” Gavroche took off his hat and bowed to Grantaire.

 

“Go on then, you little-“Grantaire watched as Gavroche ran off into the night. “Right, ‘Rel, lets get you covered up.” He took off his coat, hoping that its dark colour would hide Bahorel from view, and covered the sleeping man in it. Feuilly could wake him up and get him to move when he got here. 

 

Grantaire took a final look around the alley, it was deserted, and it didn’t actually lead anywhere; there was no one really wandering the streets then anyway, so Grantaire felt quite safe leaving his friend for Gavroche and Feuilly to come back to. R glanced left and right at the alley entrance, making sure there were no unsavoury characters lurking about, ready for a chance to pound on his friend; there were none. So he left, his boots crunching on the stones and broken glass that had come from one of the building’s shattered windows. He traced what he thought were his footsteps to the site where he saw Enjolras and Rogers fighting, to the house that had collapsed in the square with a view of the harbour. He could see the beam that Enjolras had leaped over, and the blood spatters from Enjolras’s ribs and stomach. Grantaire couldn’t see Rogers. There was no sign of the man about the streets, and no footprints that showed him leaving the area. Not that he expected there to be any, he knew he’d been gone too long; yet part of him had hoped for a chance to kill Rogers himself. For good measure, he checked around the side streets, making sure that Rogers was definitely gone and not just hiding it out, biding his time to strike again. 

 

Grantaire gave up after what he assumed as about half an hour; he decided to try and find Eponine. There was no way that she and Gavroche could remain on the island; they were too stationary, too well known. Rogers had come here looking for them, he supposed, and so the only logical thing he could think of doing was to move her to New Providence, where they’d be looked after by Cosette and Jean Valjean. He reached what was left of the inn, he knew it would destroy Eponine to see it, her business now reduced to rubble and broken glass. Grantaire sighed as he took in the smouldering mass of wood and plaster, instead of mourning it he walked round to the side street where the entrance to the cellar was. 

 

“Ponine?” He said, “you in there?” He called through the tiny gap in the wood. 

 

“Is it over? Or are you Woodes Rogers and are just very good at impressions?” Eponine’s voice was muffled by the wood, but he could hear the sarcasm in it plain as day.

 

“It’s over,” Grantaire said, grinning slightly as he opened the doors to the cellar. “You can come out now.” 

 

“In that case,” Eponine hopped out of the cellar and stood up, brushing off her skirts. “Remind me not to ever wear skirts during a battle ever again. Actually, remind me to never fucking wear skirts ever again.” She said sighing and hoisting up the material that was dragging on the ground. 

 

“I’m sure there are some breeches on the ship that you can use. In the mean time, we should get going,” Grantaire was itching to get back on to the Ami and see how Enjolras was, the worry was a constant voice in the back of his head. 

 

“Is everyone okay?” Eponine’s whole demeanour changed, she went from mocking and silly to serious and grave in less than a second. 

 

“Uh, I’ve only seen Enjolras, Bossuet, Bahorel, and Gavroche so far. No one else, but I know Joly is okay because Bossuet wasn’t broken, and so that means Musichetta is fine. I don’t know about anyone else, I don’t know if they’re even on the ship or if they’re somewhere in the town.” Grantaire’s eyes were wide and watery with worry. “Enjolras is hurt, he’s got so many cuts and bruises; lost so much blood he passed out. He tried to fight Woodes Rogers alone whilst he was suffering from the smoke. Rogers tried to cut off his hand. He would have succeeded too if I hadn’t kicked the sword out his hand.”

 

Eponine stood there listening to Grantaire worry, she was rocking backwards and forwards on to the balls of her feet. Her hand was twitching towards the dagger she kept tied to her waist, her eyebrows knitting together and a rather predatory look took over her face. Grantaire could see what she was thinking, he knew it would take everything he could think of to stop her from going after Woodes Rogers herself. He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly as he looked around the street where they were standing, looking for nasties. 

 

“Is there anything you want to look for in the rubble?” Grantaire asked, glancing at the ruins of Eponine’s once home.

 

“I’ve started from nothing once, I can start from nothing again,” she said squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath, steeling herself. “I can start from nothing again. It’ll be nice, to start a fresh, there’re so many places to go.” 

 

“I was thinking,” Grantaire started, “Cosette is struggling to manage the business now that Valjean can’t do the books or anything on his feet anymore. I was thinking that you could be her woman on the ground, as it were.” 

 

“That’s- that’s not a bad idea, actually,” a smile starts to spread itself over Eponine’s cheeks. “Are you lot heading back to New Providence? Don’t suppose I could ask for passage for two?” 

 

“I’m not the Captain,” Grantaire shrugged a smile was twitching at the corners of his mouth, “but the crew all love you so I can’t see why it would be a problem.”

 

“Thanks,” Eponine shoved his shoulder and moved to walk out of the alley. 

 

“Right then, I need to make sure Feuilly got Bahorel back to the ship, he hurt his leg and fell asleep,” Grantaire chuckled and followed Eponine. 

 

“How?” Eponine laughed as well. “How did he fall asleep in an alley, during a battle?” 

 

“Don’t ask me,” Grantaire said. “Bahorel can fall asleep anywhere given a horizontal surface. I think it comes with being a gunner.” 

 

“I want him to teach me his ways,” Eponine nodded very seriously. “It has to be quiet and dark for me to even have a hope of sleeping. 

 

They wound their way through the streets and out on to the main road again. The roads were emptier now, fewer people were searching for their loved ones, most had been found or their families had given up hope. The Scarborough had left the harbour, sailing away into the night with most of her crew taken as prisoners, Grantaire assumed. Bahorel wasn't lying in the alley way when Grantaire looked for him; he hoped beyond hope that he had been brought back to the ship. 

 

When they stepped on to the main deck they were engulfed in a flurry of activity; Grantaire did a mental role call in his head, making eye contact with each of his friends. He recounted in his head who was missing: Joly, Enjolras, Combeferre, Bossuet, and Musichetta. That made sense if Enjolras was as gravely hurt as Grantaire believed he was. Marius was also missing but Grantaire wasn’t too surprised, the boy managed to hurt himself when they were docked in a harbour; the fact that he’d likely been hurt in a battle was hardly earth shattering. Courfeyrac stood behind the helm, yelling orders and trying to control the crew as best he could. He looked up at Grantaire and Eponine and grinned, nodding them below deck without even having to say anything. 

 

Below deck was almost as hectic as above, the boat rocked in the slight swell and the gun crews were busy trying to run supplies to the galley. Marius was there tottering with a barrel of something, Grantaire told him that it would be easier if he put the barrel down and rolled; Marius blushed and muttered something incomprehensible. R laughed and continued showing Eponine to Joly’s room; he tried to maintain his jovial attitude despite the knot of worry in his gut. Eponine, could obviously sense he unease; she grabbed his hand and spared him a rare smile. 

 

Joly’s rooms were small, cramped, and dark; though he had several lanterns and oil lamps shining light on to a central operating table. The lamps made it so hot in the room, so much so that R felt suffocated, like he couldn't breathe; the walls seemed to close in around him, trapping him in place. Eponine’s hand curled around his, tugging him slowly back to reality and keeping him there, despite what confronted him. Enjolras was lying on the table, his face greying and his lips a worrying shade of blue; Grantaire imagined that the pain he was feeling now, was how Enjolras had felt seeing him on that table. He wanted to turn away, to turn and run down the length of the ship and not look back. 

 

“He’s going to be fine,” Joly said, looking up at Grantaire, his hazel eyes warm and filled with pity. 

 

“There was so much blood,” R mumbled, looking Enjolras up and down. 

 

“There always is when someone looses a fight; we’re lucky you got him here so quick, that’s what saved his life. You got him to me quick enough for me to be able to stop the bleeding and patch him up.” Joly rested his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder and pulled him in to a hug. 

 

“I thought for sure-“

 

“Well, he’s not. And he won’t.” Bossuet moved so that Grantaire could look him in the eye, “our captain will survive to see another dawn; and many more after that.”  


 

“Very well, L’Aigle,” Grantaire huffed out a laugh that was somewhat muffled by Joly’s shoulder. 

 

“Now get yourself up t’the deck, Courf was wanting to speak with you after you’d seen Enjolras. Ferre isn’t back yet and no one’s seen him since the battle. I've never seen Courfeyrac like this, he's so worried.” There was only a small hint of worry in Bossuet’s voice, just the slightest lilt to his voice that gave away just how he felt about the fact that Combeferre hadn't been seen after the battle. 

 

“Right,” Grantaire trembled a little, “I’m sure he’s fine.” 

 

“Of course he is, he’s probably hunkered down somewhere.” Bossuet nodded and shoved Grantaire and Eponine towards the door. 

 

They stepped out on deck, above them the stars were bright and cold, they gazed down upon the town of Tortuga unfeeling and merciless, spreading their light on a town now changed. The moon in all her impassive glory watched with cruel delight as they picked up the pieces of their scattered family, cool white light not bright enough to see shone down upon the deck casting dark shadows and Grantaire trembled in her wake. The ship bobbed upon ink dark waters, usually bright turquoise, now the sea had turned her cheek upon them, leaving them blind to what she hid beneath her surface. Torches burned about them, warm and orange, small halos of clear light; it was in one of these such halos that Courfeyrac stood, leaning on the side of the ship gazing out at the town. 

 

“He’ll be back soon,” Grantaire said, walking up to Courf.

 

“Did he tell you where he was going? When he’d be back?” Courfeyrac turned to Grantaire with such a look in his eye, that Grantaire had never seen. It was grave and serious, and not a look usually worn by jovial Courfeyrac. 

 

“Nay,” R said, shaking his head. 

 

“Then we can but hope and speculate,” Courfeyrac sighed, “I half hoped he’d be back soon, I’ve no idea how to run this ship without him. I can get her underway but without Ferre, we’ll be aimless.” 

 

“I doubt that,” Grantaire huffed. 

 

“It’s true,” Courf said, slamming his fist on the side of the ship, “I need Ferre to guide me, and I need Enjolras to lead me. Without them, I am incomplete; one third without his brothers, without them I’m lost, a wandering bark doomed to be without my stars.” He sighed dramatically, trying to turn the situation to humour. It didn't work.

 

“Enjolras will be fine and Combeferre will be here soon, I shouldn’t worry,” but Grantaire knew how Courfeyrac felt, lonely and desperate like the world would forever be empty and cold. “They’ll be back with you before you know it.” 

 

“I wanted to see you for a legitimate reason, not just to bemoan my loneliness, though I thank you for listening. What I really wanted to see you for was to ask you to do a stock take, before we leave I want to make sure we’ve all the supplies we need. Ferre wrote them down before he left,” Courf pulled out a sheaf of parchment and handed it to Grantaire, “here, there should be everything we need written down on that.”

 

“Right, I’ll get a hold of Marius and make sure that he didn’t fuck anything up,” Grantaire tried to grin but Combeferre and Enjolras’s absence weighed too heavily upon them both. 

 

“We should call a crew meeting as well. In his absence, I, de facto captain of this ship, The Ami, promote you to quartermaster.” Courfeyrac’s eyes were down turned and his mouth was pressed into a grimace. “Sorry it has to be under these circumstances, but there are few on this ship that fully understand my position.” 

 

“That’s fine, I thank you for trusting me,” Grantaire grasped his friend’s forearm, a new understand blossoming between them. 

 

“Now, Eponine," He turned to Eponine who had been hanging around the helm since they'd arrived.  "We are happy to have you on the ship; though I suppose you will already have a plan of where you and Gavroche will go now?” Courfeyrac now had a ghost of a smile etched on to his face. 

 

“I had planned to go to Nassau, as no doubt you’re headed there,” Eponine grinned a little, “I had a mind to help Cosette.” 

 

“Indeed, we will be headed to Nassau, there’s no way we could not pass on what happened here at the first opportunity.” Courfeyrac nodded. 

 

“Courf,” Grantaire grabbed his arm, and yanked on it, pointing down to the sea below them; climbing one of the ropes up the side of the ship was Combeferre. In his teeth his dagger glinted; a roll of parchment was stuck in his waistcoat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao, as always thanks for reading, I hope you stick around to read the rest of this. Not too much longer to go!! Thanks for commenting and kudosing!!


	8. In which Marius is not useless.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, Enjolras has had enough of waiting, Marius isn't useless, and Combeferre is slightly terrifying.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Courfeyrac swore, as Combeferre rolled himself on to the deck. 

 

“Getting this,” he coughed, and held up the parchment, which was ever so slightly soggy. 

 

“What is it?” Courfeyrac took the parchment but before Combeferre could answer gasped, “you went on to the Scarborough, with no back up and no one knowing? You fucking idiot, and you say that I’m impulsive.” 

 

“Got their schedule though, didn’t I?” Combeferre grinned, and rolled himself on to his feet.

 

“You? Climbed aboard the Scarborough, one of the most protected ships in the British navy; sneaked into the captain’s cabin, and stole their schedule out from the captain’s log book and then proceeded to wander about the ship before jumping into the sea and swimming back here?” Grantaire started laughing, “and there was me thinking you were all books and quills, Theodore.” 

 

“I am more than meets the eye,” Combeferre smiled before turning to the two of them a serious look overcasting his mirth. “How fairs our fearless leader?” 

 

“He is, as well as can be expected,” Courf sighed, “Joly says he should be up on his feet when we reach Nassau, but, I can’t help but expect the worst.” 

 

“I am sure all will be well,” Combeferre’s dark eyes were filled with warmth and kindness, a deep seated kindness that was not pity; more maternal than anything else, he cared with no stipulations or expectation. His eyes showed his love and his fierce protectiveness over Courfeyrac, and as he turned to Grantaire, R saw that same gaze given to him and he felt loved. “And you, R, how are you?” 

 

“I am as I am,” Grantaire just shrugged and looked across the deck. “Is there anyone else unaccounted for?”

 

“No, no that’s it, it was just Ferre left,” Courfeyrac didn't look at R as he spoke, his eyes were focussed only on Combeferre; raking up and down the other’s body, taking all of him in. 

 

“Thank god, now I know my time in the role of quartermaster has been short, but alas Courf I believe I should have to stand down,” Grantaire smiled, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes.

 

“A shame for sure,” Courf grinned a little, turning to face Grantaire and bowing, “a fine quartermaster you made.”

 

“My thanks, though I think I’ll join Marius down below,” Grantaire bowed back smiling still, he walked below, the second deck of the ship was busy; there were crew members everywhere bustling about and shouting things to each other. “Marius!” Grantaire shouted, craning his neck over people to try and spot the lanky over grown boy. 

 

“R!” Marius shouted back, he was standing by the entrance to the galley rocking back and forth on his heels. “I’m glad you’re alright!” His freckled face lit up when Grantaire came closer, “when I didn't see you during the battle I thought for sure you were hurt.”

 

“I am quite well,” Grantaire patted Marius on the shoulder and moved into the galley. “Now, the stock, you didn’t muddle up the numbers did you?” 

 

“Not this time, I double checked with the list that Combeferre gave me!” Marius smiled, as he did so little lines appeared round his eyes, he smiled so much his face had learned a pattern to follow it. 

 

“Alright, lets start counting then,” Grantaire looked at the lad, not that Marius was younger than any of the others, it was more that he seemed so young, more like a puppy than a pirate. 

 

They settled down on to barrels of rum, Eponine with them, not saying much as she took her piece of parchment and recorded as they counted the barrels of rum, dried meat, ships biscuits, and preserved fruit. She scribbled with her quill, humming a note every now and then; she looked up at Grantaire as he mentioned some of the nicer bottles of wine the budget made allowances for, she down right scoffed when he read out the tea ration. He shrugged and continued onto the meat and dried biscuits, Marius glanced at him and worried look on his face; Grantaire smiled and shook his head. 

 

“Eponine! Eponine!” Gavroche cried, running into the room and leaping on to his sister’s lap. 

 

“Gavroche, how glad I am to see you here. Have you been climbing the rigging, look at your hands, my god you need to see Joly to get those grazes sorted.” Eponine fussed, using a strip of material from her shirt to wrap Gavroche’s hands. “Do you mind? Only if I don’t go with him and sit him down, he’ll never see Joly.” 

 

“Not one bit, Marius can write… I think,” Grantaire said and shooed Eponine and Gavroche out of the room, ruffling Gavroche’s hair as they went. 

 

“Of course I can write, and in four languages,” Marius said indignantly a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I’m not hopeless.”

 

“I know you’re not, but we should get this done before Enjolras wakes up or he’ll have my head.” Grantaire smiled and walked to the barrels. “Did you know we have three extra barrels of rum back here?” He said, looking at Marius over his shoulder.

 

“Huh? No I didn’t,” Marius wrote them down, “that means we’ve a surplus of five.”

 

“You know what that means?” Grantaire grinned and stood up and moved around to walk out the door. 

 

“We save them so when we have a deficiency there’s a back up?” Marius smiled though, that gave away the innocence from his question. 

 

“Oh Marius, you poor soul,” Grantaire laughed as he walked towards the top deck where he knew he’d find Ferre and Courf. 

 

This time there was very little melancholy on the deck, Courfeyrac and Combeferre were laughing to each other; Grantaire did not miss the look they shared, and the hand Courfeyrac trailed down Combeferre’s cheek. Jehan was hanging upside down on the rigging, his long red hair being braided by Bahorel, Feuilly doing his best acrobatics across the masts and ropes; flying from rope to rope and mast to mast. Bossuet had surfaced from his vigil beside Enjolras; he had brought his fiddle out and started to play. Only one hurt, out of a battle of that size and scale, Grantaire counted it as a resounding success. 

 

“R!” Courf called, “is the stock count done?” 

 

“Aye, so it is,” Grantaire waltzed over to Courfeyrac, “we’ve five barrels of rum spare.”

 

“Well get L’Aigle and Bahorel to bring up two, I think the hardship of battle has bestowed a night of revelry upon us,” Courfeyrac laughed, as he caught Grantaire mid waltz. 

 

“As you wish,” Grantaire bowed and went over to Bossuet and Bahorel. 

 

A night of dancing and music followed, conducted under the sky and in the light of the torches, Grantaire paid no mind to the cold abyss above him and instead focussed on the feeling of family that radiated from all sides of the ship. The wood creaked under their dancing feet, as Feuilly and Jehan gave their best rendition of a jig they’d learned years ago, passed down from some old sea dogs in the ports around New Orleans. He swapped out Jehan for Bossuet and then Musichetta dancing with each one of them in turn; Grantaire tapped his leg against the deck in time with music, singing along, playing Bossuet’s fiddle and swigging his rum.

 

“I couldn’t trouble your hand for the next dance,” Courfeyrac called from where he and Combeferre had been absorbed in conversation. “I’ve had enough of serious talk for the night.” He pulled his hair out of its confinements and let it curl freely around him, the beads in the braids at the front clicking. “I feel as though I could jig forever.” 

 

Courfeyrac never wore shoes, or boots of any kind, Enjolras had often tried to convince him to no effect. When he started to dance, Grantaire could see why he didn't wear shoes, he moved with such speed and grace; weaving in and out of shadows and light; his tightly curled hair a perfect contrast to Jehan’s long flowing red locks. They danced and skipped between each other, Bossuet took his fiddle and pushed R up to sing; R lead the call and response, Courf grinning at him briefly as he spun Jehan into a flip. Bahorel took him in to a gentle jig, guiding him through the dance even as his leg hampered his movement; he could feel the metal dig into the wound, though he didn’t feel as much pain as he had been feeling a week ago. His eye caught Bossuets’ and he mouthed a title of a song Enjolras had taught him whilst they had the watch one night not long after his capture. 

 

_“I thought I heard the Old Man say:_

_"Leave her, Johnny, leave her."_

_Tomorrow you will get your pay_

_And it's time for us to leave her_

 

_Leave her, Johnny, leave her!_

_Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!_

_For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow_

_And it's time for us to leave her_

 

_Oh, the wind was foul and the sea ran high_

_"Leave her, Johnny, leave her!"_

_She shipped it green and none went by_

_And it's time for us to leave her_

 

_Leave her, Johnny, leave her!_

_Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!_

_For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow_

_And it's time for us to leave her_

 

_I hate to sail on this rotten tub_

_"Leave her, Johnny, leave her!"_

_No grog allowed and rotten grub_

_And it's time for us to leave her_

 

_Leave her, Johnny, leave her!_

_Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!_

_For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow_

_And it's time for us to leave her_

 

_We swear by rote for want of more_

_"Leave her, Johnny, leave her!"_

_But now we're through so we'll go on shore_

_And it's time for us to leave her_

 

_Leave her, Johnny, leave her!_

_Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!_

_For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow_

_And it's time for us to leave her”_

 

He sang remembering that night, as Bahorel took him through the easy moves of the jig as Courfeyrac and Jehan danced around them. Grantaire felt warmth and mirth and merriment bubble up in his chest and he smiled as he sang. Combeferre eventually stole Courfeyrac from Jehan, they danced well together and Prouvaire didn't seem to mind as he grabbed at Feuilly instead who went with him with a large grin on his face. 

 

They danced and sang as the sky lightened and the sun came up, casting the sky in shades of purple and orange. The torches had burned themselves out by then, the rum in the barrels down to the last few drops; though the men were no less jolly. The water was turning from wine dark to a crystalline blue and the sun was above the line of the horizon when Joly made it up on to the deck. In his arms he held biscuits and loaves of bread, he passed them out between the crew, muttering about getting drunk on an empty stomach. The crew all took them gratefully Bahorel took to throwing chunks of bread in to Feuilly’s mouth, watching and laughing as he moved to catch them between his teeth. Joly whacked Bahorel softly on the back of his head, saying that if Feuilly choked, he would not be the one to go and save him. 

 

Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Grantaire gathered around the helm waiting for Joly to meet them there and update them about Enjolras before the rest of the crew found out. Joly walked up to them, retying his hair in its usual bun as he did, using a quill pen to hold it all in place. His face was set in a serious expression, though as he put his hand on R’s shoulder he smiled a worn out smile. 

 

“He’s awake,” Joly said, “he’s going to have one hell of a scar across his wrist and the wound to his stomach was deeper than I first thought. But the bleeding stopped not too long after you brought him to me. We gave him sugar syrup and some salt to help his humours; he woke up not so long after that.” 

 

“Thank heavens above,” Courfeyrac slumped against the wheel. 

 

“Should we come down and move him to his cabin?” Combeferre, ever practical asked, though he wore a relieved look on his face. 

 

“He’d probably be more comfortable there, if you can get him there without tearing the wound,” Joly nodded.

 

“I’ll keep the others busy, so that he can be moved in peace,” Courfeyrac grinned, “he wouldn’t want to be swamped, can’t show an ounce of weakness our captain.”

 

“‘Taire, if you don’t mind helping, you’re really one of the only ones who know how badly he was hurt,” Combeferre said. 

 

“Not sure how much help I’ll be but,” Grantaire shrugged, and nodded, following Combeferre and Joly as they made their way down below. 

 

Enjolras was lying down on the bed, looking at the bandage round his wrist; he flexed his fingers with fascination, almost as though he was surprised they all still worked. His blond hair was fanned out around him, not tied up in its usual way; his skin was paler, greyer than it normally was. His eyes were tired, and the skin under them was bruised dark, almost black, he looked up as soon as Grantaire stepped in to the room. A smile broke over his face, brighter than the sun, R could feel warmth spread to the tips of his body at the sight. 

 

“R,” Enjolras said, softly, looking at Grantaire as if he’d hung the stars. “I heard you carried me back to the ship.” His voice was weak and quiet, but his face was set a determined grimace. 

 

“I did,” Grantaire moved to stand next to Enjolras’s head. “Now I’ve been ordered to help you to your cabin.” 

 

“We assumed that you’d be more likely to stay put if we took you there,” Combeferre said, standing at Enjolras’s shoulder.

 

“Stay put?” Enjolras huffed a little, looking up at his crew around him. 

 

“Aye, you’re not to move about the ship so much, don’t even think about taking the helm for at least a week,” Joly nodded, standing by Grantaire’s side. 

 

“We’ll be at Nassau by then,” Combeferre smiled a little, touching Enjolras on the shoulder, “Courfeyrac and I can take care of the ship and crew until then; it’d be fine for you to rest, we’ve taken the ship to Nassau before.”

 

“They can fill you in on the plan when you’re in your cabin,” Joly said. “I don’t want you to do anything when you’re in there, not even sit at your desk. You are on strict bed rest for the week until we dock in Nassau.” 

 

“And you’re on double rations,” Grantaire added, “no arguments, we’ve enough food to feed the crew three times over.”

 

“I couldn’t, its the rules, the captain doesn’t get special treatment,” Enjolras looked stricken to Combeferre.

 

“Yes, but the injured do,” Combeferre smiled mildly, chuckling a little.

 

“Just take the extra food, Captain, with all due respect, you’ve little choice on this matter,” Grantaire shrugged. “Do you think you could sit up?”

 

“Yes, I- I think so,” Enjolras nodded and started to sit, groaning as his stitches pulled as he moved. 

 

“Careful, don’t let your stitches rub or you’ll start to bleed out again,” Joly worried around them as Grantaire and Combeferre moved Enjolras so that he was sitting. “How do you feel?” 

 

“Well enough, tired,” Enjolras smiled a little before a yawn overtook him. 

 

“Alright, then, if both of you can help him up to his cabin. Carry him if you must,” Joly said. “Actually, Ferre, if you could carry him that would be good, I don’t want him to fall and rip the stitches. R if you could watch where the bandage round his stomach is, that would be good, just check to make sure there’s no blood there.” 

 

“Enj, if you could,” Ferre said, a mark of closely their minds were entwined with each other that he didn't have to explain what he wanted Enjolras to do before he was carrying Enjolras in his arms. His muscles bulging though it looked as though the weight of the captain was nothing. “Perfect.” Combeferre looked completely at ease with Enjolras in his arms, cradled like a baby, his head again Ferre’s chest. 

 

On deck, Courfeyrac had stuck to his end of the bargain; the crew were completely distracted by Bahorel and the helmsman. They were playing a fast jig, their fingers flying over the strings with ease, finding their destinations with no more than a glance or pause. The other men were so distracted that they paid neither hide nor hair to Combeferre, R, and Enjolras as they made their way across the deck to the captain’s cabin. The early morning light casting the ship with a misty grey light, the fog almost seemed to muffle the sounds of the crew’s revelry as though the smaller party on the other side was not of the same world, obscured in other worldly fog as they were. Only the outlines of the men dancing and singing were visible through the thick white fog, only the odd sounds filtered through the curling white tendrils. 

 

They hurried Enjolras across the deck and in to his cabin, where they laid him down upon the bed. It was more of a cot, tied to the ceiling so that it remained stable during the storms, there were two pillows and a crimson blanket on it, the bed was made haphazardly though, it seemed that Enjolras had better things to do than make his bed. Grantaire worked the blanket out form underneath Enjolras, and covered him in it, tucking him in from his feet to his chin; Ferre leaned down to work the black boots off his feet. After this was done, and Enjolras was lying in bed with only his breeches and shirt on, Joly considered his job done; and Enjolras could be left to sleep. They turned to leave him to it, when Enjolras caught Grantaire’s wrist. 

 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras mumbled, “would you do me a favour?” 

 

Grantaire had to shake his head, to make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating that Enjolras had called his name not Combeferre’s. He wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, that Enjolras had really caught his wrist.

 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras said again.

 

“I’d black your boots, I’d swim to France for you, whatever you want of me I am in your service,” Grantaire bowed, his hair tipping forward and covering his face. 

 

“Stay with me?” Enjolras whispered, looking no more than seventeen, like he was still a young boy; his eyes rounded and clouded with sleep, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, his skin grey. Yet, Grantaire thought he had never seen Enjolras look more beautiful. 


	9. Interlude.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! 
> 
> Some notes: Enjolras binds with what is available to him, in those days there were no resources for trans people therefor he binds with bandages. This is not the case today! Please do not bind with ace bandages. Incase you are reading this and thinking, but Alex, what should I bind with? I'm going to provide some links in the notes!!

 

“Aye,” Grantaire said, swallowing, “aye I’ll say with you.” 

 

Enjolras gifted him with a sleepy smile, burrowing further into his blankets, pulling them up to his chin; not letting go of Grantaire’s wrist. R smiled back, still a little in disbelief, and pulled a chair up next to the bed. He worked his wrist free of Enjolras’s grip, and entwined their fingers together, stroking his thumb over the back of Enjolras’s hand. Enjolras sighed, his eyelids drooping his breathing almost easing a little. 

 

“R,” Enjolras whispered again, tapping him lightly on the hand, “I’ve never heard you sing. Courfeyrac told me you sang nicely. But,” he paused for a short, sharp, shallow, breath, “I realise, I’ve not heard you.” 

 

“My Captain,” R smiled at how distressed Enjolras looked. “It would be an honour to sing to you.” 

 

Their eyes met, and Grantaire felt himself drown in a sea that was not made of water. Enjolras looked at him expectantly; Grantaire was happy to oblige, he sang a song in English, an old lullaby his mother had once sung to him, one he’d had only a fragment of until he’d heard it sung in Nassau. Enjolras didn't take his eyes of R as he sang, gazing at him in awe, like he was water and Enjolras on fire. Grantaire sang, pouring all his feelings in to the song, his english was not so good, not anymore but he knew how to sing this song perfectly. Their fingers remained tangled together as Enjolras finally fell asleep, no longer able to resist the song Grantaire was giving him. After sleep had taken his Captain, Grantaire leaned forward and brushed his lips across Enjolras’s sweat soaked forehead and settled back in his chair for a long day of watching over him. 

 

The boat rocked, though she kept mostly steady, as she pulled out of Tortuga on her way back to Nassau, bringing with her news that Grantaire knew would change the life of every pirate on the account. He sat back in his chair, looking out of the mullioned windows at the rear of Enjolras’s cabin, looking out at the crystalline blue waters. Golden sun reflecting off the sea in shards of pure light, the waves crashed against the sides of the ship, white foam they left in their wake. The noises coming off the deck were quiet, though he could hear Courf and Ferre’s shouts and orders as they filtered through the doors. He was content to watch Enjolras sleep, making sure that nothing more happened to his captain. He stroked his hand through the tightly curled blond hair, twining it round his fingers. 

 

Grantaire sighed as he looked on at his captain, watching the tightly bandaged chest rise and fall, the skin usually flushed with health was grey and ill looking. He stroked his fingers across Enjolras’s forehead, watching on, not taking his eyes off his charge. Not even though the sun was cresting high in the sky, and had reached its peak; he hardly noticed the time he’d been sitting in that chair. He had been thinking on his feelings, what had been a simple dalliance of his heart, had become something more; he knew that, he also knew that if anyone on any island or country found out about them, they’d be hanged before they could cough. Yet, he could not shake the thought that, if Enjolras would let him, he’d die by his side; he’d find it a privilege for the last thing he saw to be Enjolras’s eyes. He’d suffered this long enough before, when the tension between them had crested and broke like a storm over the whole crew, when they’d not been able to hold it in any longer and had split down the middle. Grantaire had been in this situation, wanting but never being able to have, needing but not being allowed to receive; he would go through a thousand swords, storms, canons for the man in front of him but the last few weeks had been the biggest test of his strength. He kept his watch, silently coming to a decision, even as Enjolras slept on oblivious in front of him. 

 

“You stayed,” Enjolras’s eyes flickered open, widening a little in surprise to find Grantaire watching him still.

 

“I said I’d black your boots,” Grantaire shrugged, and smiled a little.

 

“I thought you’d leave once I was asleep,” Enjolras watched Grantaire, his normally cold eyes filled with warmth, a summer sky with no hint of the storm usually in them. “I’d have asked you to join me here, if I’d known you’d suffer discomfort for me.”

 

“I was not so uncomfortable,” Grantaire kept his smile, not showing the disbelief he felt on his face. He shifted in his seat, his hand running through his tangle of curls as he laughed, a short cough more than a full force laugh.

 

“I’m sorry, I’ve made this awkward,” Enjolras sculpted his face back into the emotionless, marble captain. 

 

“No,” Grantaire barked, “no, you didn’t. I’m sorry, I’d have joined you if you’d asked.”

 

“You would have?” Enjolras seemed slightly surprised at this, his eyebrows arching and his mouth turning in to a perfect ‘o’ shape. 

 

“If you ask anything of me, I’d do it,” Grantaire lowered his eyes, studying the metal foot at the end of his stump. “All you’d have to do is ask.”

 

“Anything?” Enjolras said, mostly to himself, like he was mulling over the full meaning of the word, trying it in his mouth.

 

“Anything, my captain,” Grantaire kept his eyes on his leg. 

 

“Look at me,” Enjolras whispered, his hand twining around Grantaire’s fingers and up his arm so that Enjolras could lightly brush his fingers across R’s jaw. “Look at me, Grantaire.” 

 

And Grantaire did, he looked at Enjolras, and Enjolras looked back at him; their feelings brewing between them, rising up like a tide breaking a dam, this time not a storm of hatred and harsh words, this time not a fight but a release of passion. Enjolras, laid on the bed in front of him, Enjolras with his hand moving from his jaw to the back of his neck; Grantaire could think of no place he’d rather it be. For once in his life, Grantaire decided to make a decision, to take a leap in to the unknown; he leaned forward on the chair, moving closer to the bed. He placed his hands on the side of the cot, gripping on to the wood, moving so that his nose brushed his captain’s though he moved down Enjolras’s neck.

 

“Oh, Captain, my Captain,” he whispered like a prayer in to the soft skin at the place where neck met collar bone.

 

“Making jokes at a time like this, Grantaire?” Enjolras chuckled though the movement caused him to gasp painfully. 

 

“I’d never,” Grantaire played at mock offence, pressing a closed mouth kiss to the base of Enjolras’s neck. 

 

“I trust you,” Enjolras cupped Grantaire’s jaw to bring his face level with his own. “You said, if I wanted something of you, all I had to do was ask.”

 

“Ask and ye shall receive,” Grantaire grinned, staring into Enjolras’s eyes. 

 

“Kiss me,” Enjolras said.

 

And who was Grantaire to refuse such a request. Their lips touched, and the world seemed to stop, in all the years that Grantaire had spent fantasising over this he’d never expected it to be so chaste. There was no crescendo of desire and passion, no flames or canon fire, there more a sense of utter comfort, the kind of ease that comes with coming home. Enjolras’s lips were warm and dry under his, he could feel the smile breaking over them like waves on the beach. He could feel Enjolras’s hand winding his hair through his fingers, tugging at the long brown locks; Grantaire gasped a little, though Enjolras did nothing to deepen the kiss. They broke apart, only so that their foreheads were touching, Enjolras tracing a line down Grantaire’s cheek, looking at him as though he’d hung the stars. 

 

“Who is this angel that heaven sent to watch over me?” Enjolras grinned staring up at Grantaire, flicking his eyes up and down to R’s lips. 

 

“If you knew me, you’d know I am no angel,” Grantaire said, smiling, showing his canines. 

 

“Prove it,” Enjolras whispered in to Grantaire’s open mouth. 

 

“If you permit me to,” Grantaire moved further down the line of Enjolras’s neck, licking and sucking purple bruises on to the perfect skin there. Enjolras gasped and moved, shifting around as Grantaire moved to kneel on the side of the bed. Enjolras moaned a little, a short exhalation of air, a small whine in the back of his throat. The gasp turned in to a pained sort of groan, Grantaire pulled up without hesitation, as Enjolras clutched his stomach. 

 

“Perhaps I should wait to ask you to prove it to me,” Enjolras smiled, “just till there is no longer thread holding the skin on my stomach closed.”

 

“Perhaps.” Grantaire nodded, rubbing his thumb across Enjolras’s lips, “know that I wait for that day with anticipation.” He pressed a kiss to Enjolras’s mouth. “I should check on the crew, I’ll ask Combeferre to give you a report of everything that’s happened.” 

 

“Thank you, ‘Taire,” Enjolras said, catching Grantaire’s wrist as the other turned to go. 

 

“Not a problem,” Grantaire gave Enjolras a smile, “I hope I did not hurt you so badly,” he said.

 

“Not at all, I just don’t want to worry Joly more, you know how he frets,” Enjolras huffed out a small laugh.

 

“I understand,” Grantaire nodded, and squeezed Enjolras’s hand once, before he left through the double doors at the entrance of the cabin. “I’ll be back after Combeferre’s made his report, that should give me and Marius enough time to get something on for the crew; I trust him enough now to not mess up the serving too badly.”

 

“I’m glad he’s settled in, I might not have instantly warmed to him, but he’s a decent kid,” Enjolras yawned a little, his nose scrunching up in the way that made Grantaire’s stomach flutter. 

 

“I’ll go and get Ferre,” Grantaire left before he was tempted to stay in the cabin forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but I hope that the content made up for it.
> 
> http://www.flavnt.com/bareskin/
> 
> https://www.gc2b.co/
> 
> http://www.underworks.com/men-compression-shirts
> 
> http://www.shapeshifters.co/products
> 
> If you can't afford these, then go and search the binder giveaway tag on tumblr. 
> 
> Also http://www.uppercasechase.com/binders.html Chase Ross does a binder giveaway each month so go and check him out!!


	10. Hearts full of love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favourite chapters! Enjoy!

 

“Tack a little to port, Courf, we don’t to wreck her on the reefs!” Combeferre stood on the bow of the ship, his eyeglass out, scanning the crystal blue waters. They were entering the shallows around Crooked Island, about another day’s sailing out from Nassau. 

 

“Aye aye!” Courf called back taking the ship port, the wheel spinning as he did so. 

 

“Combeferre,” Grantaire moved towards him, though his leg was a little shaky on the stairs up to the bowsprit. “Enjolras wants a briefing on the events that happened in Tortuga, he needs to know what we lost, and the costs of it all. He’s willing to hear it all while he’s still in bed.” 

 

“Hmmm,” Combeferre turned to Grantaire, his sharp, dark eyes scanning over R’s face. Before he broke in to a white toothed grin, his canines glittering in the light; Grantaire swallowed. “Treat him right, Grantaire.” Was all the other man said, looking it seemed in to R’s soul.

 

“I intend to do just that,” Grantaire smiled, looking at the deck. “I really do.” 

 

“Good. Or you’ll have me and Courf to deal with,” Combeferre smiled pleasantly at him, as though he hadn’t just threatened him. “I’ll go and brief him now.” 

 

Grantaire moved towards the front of the bowsprit, leaning his weight on the bow, looking at the white foam the ship created as it cut through the waves. Crooked Island, so named because it was literally crooked, was more of a spit of land in the middle of the blue ocean; though it had served as many a pirates’ hide out through the years. From where he stood, Grantaire could see out to the shore, the beach was lined with palms; they stood sentinel, waving their leaves as the ship sailed on. The hills stretched out into the distance, as far as Grantaire could see, covered in more waving palms. He breathed in twice, filling his lungs with salty air, letting the freedom of the sea consume him; feeling the ocean carry him away. 

 

“‘Taire?” Eponine laid a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Hullo, ‘Ponine,” he turned his head to face her, smiling as the wind took his hair, and whipped it across his face. 

 

“I saw Combeferre run into Enjolras’s cabin, is there a problem?” She said, ever perceptive. 

 

“No, there’s no problem,” he shrugged and continued watching the sea. 

 

“Well, what’s got you thinking so hard, then?” Eponine asked, looking at him with an eyebrow raised. 

 

“I kissed him,” Grantaire smiled, “and he kissed me back.”

 

“So, are you?” Eponine’s eyes widened before she broke out in a large grin.

 

“I hope so,” Grantaire blushed, his cheeks turning pink. He coughed, before looking Eponine in the eye. “I’m sorry about the inn, you built that from the ground up.”

 

“Shit happens,” Eponine shrugged, “Gav is having the time of his life though.” She pointed to Gavroche he was currently giving Jehan a run for his money on the rigging. 

 

“He’s going to be a terror when he grows up.” Grantaire laughed, running a hand through his hair. 

 

“He is, he’s going to want to go out to sea with you guys and I won’t be able to stop him,” Eponine sighed shaking her head. 

 

“He’ll be fine, we take care of our own, besides even when it seems your life is over things can turn out okay in the end.” Grantaire grinned and gestured to his leg. 

 

“You’re turning emotional in your old age,” Eponine punched him, laughing a little bit.

 

“Must be in the air today,” R said, pointing to Courf and Ferre, who were standing shoulder to shoulder just in the shadows of the poop deck stairs. 

 

***

“I’ve spoken to Enjolras, he knows everything that happened; he’ll like as not want to speak to you about it at some point.” Combeferre said not noticing Courfeyrac’s face. He looked down, and finally caught the expression Courf was wearing. “What?” He said. 

 

“You could have been dead somewhere, and I’d never see you again,” Courf ran his hand down Ferre’s cheek, his eyes looking intently at Ferre’s face, taking it in as though he was trying to memorise it. “I’d never get to say goodbye.” He took a shaky breath, “never do that to me again. I need you.”

 

“You need Enjolras too,” Combeferre looked down, his eyes filling with a vulnerability Courf had never seen. 

 

“Not like I need you.” Courf could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. “I love Enjolras, but not like I love you.”

 

“You-“ Combeferre’s dark brown skin coloured red, it spread beneath the cravat he wore, down his neck. 

 

“I love you, not like a brother, Ferre,” Courf smiled cautiously and held out his hand, “I know you carve your beads yourself, but I saw this in the market place, and so I carved it for you.” A small opal bead carved into the shape of a bird sat in the middle of his outspread palm. 

 

“Courf, Gabriel,” Ferre whispered, taking the bead, their hands brushing as he did so. “I don’t know what to say.”

 

“Say you love me back,” Courf looked up in to his eyes, he shifted from foot to foot, he couldn’t stand still. 

 

Ferre wove the bead into his hair reverently, the tiny stone dwarfed by his hands as he slid it up the lock at the front. He then took Courf’s hand in his, running his thumb over Courf’s knuckles, burning heat into his skin. Ferre’s other hand slid up Courf’s cheek, his fingers leaving a trail of fire behind them, Courf leaned into the touch, letting himself feel the heat of Ferre’s body. Combeferre leaned in, his nose brushing Courf’s, he pressed a kiss into the corner of Courfeyrac’s mouth. Courf itched to pull Ferre closer, to end the teasing but he couldn’t bring himself to, he instead settled his free hand on Ferre’s waist, stroking his thumb up and down. Courfeyrac was falling slowly further into Ferre’s heat when he finally felt lips on his, he was momentarily frozen in shock. Then he started to kiss back, and the feelings nearly overwhelmed him, Combeferre smelled like a combination of salt and books, it was nice, comforting. He grinned into the kiss, and Ferre let go of his hand to pull him further in to his body. There was no space between them then, save for the clothes that Combeferre liked to wear. 

 

“Get a cabin!” Bahorel’s voice spoiled the moment; the gunner was standing right in front of them, “there should be a no kissing in public places rule on this ship.” But even he stood shoulder to shoulder with Feuilly, their hands barely brushed but no one on the ship had missed how the two had become even more inseparable since they’d picked up Grantaire. 

 

“Sorry,” Courf coughed, but he didn’t move away from Ferre. 

 

“You’re not really sorry, are you?” Feuilly grinned, raising his eyebrow and slapping Courf on the back.

 

“Not really, no.”Combeferre smiled sweetly, laughing a little. 

 

“You two are going to be insufferable, aren’t you?” Feuilly said moving to stand behind Bahorel, having come down from the crow’s nest when Bahorel’s shout echoed about the ship. 

 

“Yes, yes we are,” Courf nodded, grabbing Ferre’s hand and lacing their fingers together. 

 

“I suppose I’ll just have to resign myself to it,” Bahorel sighed but he was smiling anyway, he turned to Feuilly, “race you to the nest?” 

 

“You’re on,” Feuilly grinned, pecking Bahorel on the cheek then, not wasting another moment, he ran to the rigging starting to climb like a monkey. 

 

“Cheat! Scoundrel!” Bahorel cried shaking his fist at Feuilly’s rapidly retreating figure. 

 

“Go get him, Bahorel,” Courf shouted pushing Bahorel towards the ropes on the other side of the deck. He turned back to Combeferre, who was wearing a small smile; his eyes darkened as Courf turned to face him again. “Now, where were we? I believe it had something to do with my mouth on your mouth,” Courfeyrac said, twisting his hand around the back of Combeferre’s neck. 

 

Combeferre laughed as he was pulled into another kiss, the sound of the sea echoing around him, the boat was not sinking; the rest of the crew were alive and mostly well, he could afford a few minutes to himself. He could hear the sound of the sail flapping and someone giving orders, but his concentration was largely devoted to kissing Courfeyrac, and seeing how many of those gorgeous little sounds he draw out of him. 

 

“For God’s sake,” Eponine said, when she walked up to them, “I mean, finally, if I had a penny for how many opportunities you two missed, I’d have enough to retire comfortably now. Though at this moment, perhaps it would be better to focus on sailing your Captain’s ship.” 

 

“You’re probably right,” Combeferre sighed, pulling himself away from Courf. “When we’re back in Nassau,” he said in form of a promise, running a hand through Courf’s hair. 

 

“Don’t leave Ranae to run this ship by himself,” Eponine gestured to the helm, where in lieu of Courfeyrac, Grantaire was standing at the wheel yelling to the crew, giving them orders. “He can’t do it, not anymore; I know every time he takes the helm he sees his old crew.” 

 

“It was never my intent to put him in that situation,” Combeferre frowned, watching Grantaire. 

 

“I know. I also know he’d never say anything about it, he’d just put up with it,” Eponine shrugged, “he’d keep going till he breaks down and we’re the ones who’d have to put himself together. He and Enjolras are quite similar in that way.” 

 

“You’re right,” Courfeyrac placed a hand on her arm, “we’ll get to it.”

 

“Uh, guys,” Bossuet shifted awkwardly, “as nice as this conversation is. I’ve got to change Enjolras’s bandages and you’re kind of in the way.” 

 

“How long have you been there?” Combeferre asked, looking at Bossuet, a smile forming at the corner of his mouth. 

 

“A while,” said Bossuet, “long enough.” 

 

“Sorry, Boss, we’ll be out of your way,” Courf laughed, taking Combeferre’s hand and dragging him up the poop deck stairs to the helm. Combeferre’s hand was a welcome weight in Courf’s, strong fingers 

 

“We’ll reach Nassau in a few days, I reckon, judging by the speed we’re going at,” Grantaire looked up at them when they reached him, his fingers were gripping on to the wheel, the tips of them turning white. 

 

“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” Courf said, moving around to Grantaire’s side, running a hand around the back of his shoulders, “I wouldn’t be too worried, Enjolras is a tough cookie; he’s been through things like this before.”

 

“Yes but you didn't see him, his head was crushed under Rogers’ boot. There was so much blood, I thought for sure he’d die in my arms as I carried him to the ship; I though he’d die without me ever getting the guts to tell him the truth.” Grantaire sighed, leaning forward, resting his head on the wheel. 

 

“We weren’t there then, but we’re here now; we’re in both of your corners, Ranae. We’ll be here to see both of you through whatever happens.” Combeferre stood at Grantaire’s other side, a comforting stable presence, strong and constant. 

 

“Thank you, both, I know I haven’t given you much reason to trust me; I left the crew when I knew you needed me, but I now realise that this is my home and you are my brothers.” He smiled, as he felt hands on his shoulders. 

 

“You have more than made up for what you did,” Courfeyrac grinned, leaning his chin on Grantaire’s shoulder. “I’m sure Enjolras agrees, hell, I’m sure the rest of the crew agrees.” 

 

“R,” Combeferre nodded to Gavroche who was hanging upside down from the ropes up near the crow’s nest. “Does Eponine know her little brother is hanging upside down from so high up, or should I go and get him?” 

 

“Fuck, yes, Ferre thanks,” Grantaire swore, not taking his eye off Gavroche’s tiny form, his blond hair was hanging below his face which was split into a wide grin. 

 

Combeferre threw himself through the ropes, his coat flapping open in the breeze; his shirt hanging open at the collar, revealing a large puckered scar just below his collar bone. His cravat and pin had obviously been lost as he swam through the sea to the Scarborough and back. His dreadlocks swinging behind him, where they had come free of their tie. Grantaire and Courfeyrac watched him go, before R turned to his friend, a grin spreading across his face. 

 

“I hear congratulations are in order, Bahorel was muttering louder than seagulls; I couldn't help but hear.” Grantaire said, smiling as he watched Courfeyrac watch Combeferre. 

 

“Ah, yes, I finally bit the bullet as it were,” Courfeyrac shifted, running a hand through his hair, grinning; a blush spreading across his freckled face. “Though all of us could see the way you came out of Enjolras’s cabin today.”

 

“Look at us, two fools in love.” Grantaire sighed, matching Courf’s grin. 

 

“Certainly,” Courfeyrac elbowed Grantaire, “who’d-a thought that we’d be lucky enough that the men we love love us back.”

 

“I have to say, this was not the way I thought my life may go,” Grantaire nodded. “I wonder when it changed for him, when he realised.”

 

“The moment he saw you,” Courfeyrac stared at Grantaire like he’d grown a second head. “He fell in love with you the minute you came aboard the ship. He was just a stupid idiot. You know what he’s like with people, like he doesn’t know what to say or do. You were also an idiot for not seeing how stupidly in love you both were; then you had that big fight which ended with you leaving and him being devastated. To top it all off, you both nearly get killed within a month or so; no wonder emotions are running high, there’s only so much a relationship can take before the dam breaks.” 

 

“Even all the time he was shouting at me, telling me how I was selfish for not following his ideas of what a pirate ship should stand for, he was in love with me?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow, turning to Courfeyrac. “He had a funny way of showing it.”

 

“Like I said, Enjolras finds showing his feelings about things difficult.” Courf shrugged, twisting his mouth in to a wry sort of smile. “I guess we’re all like that though, being a pirate isn’t the sort of jobs where it counts to be emotional, unless you’re Jehan Prouvaire of course.” 

 

“I suppose you’re right,” Grantaire smiled back, “I also suppose I wasn’t particularly receptive to him before.”

 

“Exactly, we never thought we’d see the day when you two became friends, never mind actually admitting to your feelings for each other.” Courf said, laughing a little, “I’m glad though, you’re standing straighter than I’ve ever seen.” 

 

“I feel like there’s this weight that’s been taken off my shoulders,” Grantaire grinned. “As though I’ve been carrying this burden around with me, now it’s been left behind and I can finally be free of it.” 

 

“I know what you mean,” Courf bumped their shoulders together. 

 

“Though you were perhaps a lot more subtle than I, I’d never realised you felt that way for Ferre,” Grantaire said. 

 

“To be entirely honest with you, neither did I,” Courf shrugged, “not until I was standing on this deck, waiting for him to come back; thinking he could be at the bottom of the bay, and I’d never see him again. I looked at my life, and I realised loosing Ferre would be different than loosing Enjolras. Though loosing either of them would devastate me, loosing Enj would be like loosing a brother, but loosing Ferre-“ Courfeyrac broke off and sighed raggedly. 

 

“Hm,” Grantaire gripped Courf’s shoulder, pulling him out of the thought spiral he’d entered. “You’ve not lost him though, look he’s showing Gav how to climb the rigging without giving both me and Eponine a heart attack.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah but,” Courfeyrac tugged at a tightly curled lock of hair before he shook his head, and smiled a small smile. “You’re right, I shouldn't be thinking about loosing him.” 

 

“Exactly,” Grantaire patted Courf’s shoulder a couple of times, he looked up at the tangle of ropes above his head, Gavroche an Combeferre swinging through them, they flew through the air like birds, seeming not to feel the pull of the Earth below them. 

 

It was a clear evening, the sun setting as they passed through Crooked Island’s sea space, not touching land; the open ocean stretching in front of them as they sailed passed the tip of the island. The sea shone blue, tiny waves cresting the surface, as the ship rocked quietly upon it. Seagulls soared above his head, calling to each other, following the ship as it carved a path through the waves. Grantaire and Courf stood at the helm next to each other, close enough for their shoulders to be touching. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is late, and that I missed the last two updates. I had a friend over and wasn't on my laptop!


	11. Mid Season Break

Hello!! I am taking a short hiatus, as you have probably figured out, I'll be back as soon as I can!!


	12. This place we call home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is done.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire walked into Enjolras’s cabin, he poked his head around the curtains that surrounded Enjolras’s bed, trying to see him through the gloom. Enjolras was sat up in bed, a book propped up on his knees. R could just about see what the book was called, something to do with stars on the other side of the world. His blond hair was curled over his face, bracketing his clear dark skin. He barely looked up as Grantaire entered, instead, he licked his finger and turned the page. The boat gave a sudden lurch as it pulled into the port, bumping against the jetty. “We’ve arrived in Nassau.”

 

“Nassau? We’re home?” Enjolras asked, looking up finally, his eyes meeting R’s, the blue in them matched that of the sea outside the window, where the aft of the ship sat low in the water that sloshed up against the harbour walls. 

 

“Aye, we’re home,” Grantaire moved to stand closer into the side of Enjolras’s bed, “Joly sent me he said he didn't want you to be alone; he said that you’d like as not try and move the second you saw we were home. I suppose he didn't want the person he just healed to have to be healed again because they were silly enough to try and move on their own too soon.” Grantaire grinned and took Enjolras’s hand, lacing their fingers together and stroking his thumb over the still swollen knuckles.

 

“S’pose he had a point,” Enjolras grumbled shifting around on the bed, moving his legs in to a position where he could more easily swing them to the floor; Grantaire was not oblivious to the struggle in Enjolras’s eye, but he also knew that the other man had to start moving on his own again sooner rather than later. 

 

“He does have good ideas every now and then, our Joly.” Grantaire said, giving Enjolras a wry smile, that only just curved the slightest hint of his mouth. He gripped Enjy’s hand a little harder before he squeezed and moved to help the other more. “Let’s get up on your feet again, Captain.” 

 

“It has been too long since I last set foot on deck, I miss looking out from the bow,” Enjolras latched on to Grantaire as his feet first touched the rug that covered the wood floors of the cabin. It had been too long since he’d allowed his body to take his whole weight. He stumbled a little bit, his fingers gripping on to the sleeves of Grantaire’s dirty green coat. “You really need a new coat, R,” Enjolras sniffed, “this one is filthy. What did you even do to it?” 

 

“Spilt some tar, soup, blood, and sweat on it,” R chuckled as he watched Enjolras with a careful eye, making sure he didn't fall. “Don’t worry, I’ll wash it when we get into town.” 

 

“Good. It smells something dreadful, too.” Enjolras leaned his weight on Grantaire’s shoulders, letting the other man help him to the door. “I suppose we have a meeting with the other captains now, don’t we?” Enjolras sighed and hoped in vain that the meeting would be cancelled or postponed. 

 

“Yes we do, Courf sent the word out as soon as we were within rowing distance, every captain who’s on the island is going. Then we’re going to send out the sloops and bring the others that are less than a week away from here into port, it’s going to happen whether we want it to or not. The English aren’t going to let Nassau go unless we give them a fight they cannot win,” Grantaire looked at Enjolras, one hand resting on the brass handle. “I truly believe you are the captain that has the most chance of making this happen, there’s never been a man like you at the helm of a ship like this. I might be cynical that the venture as a whole can work but by God, Enjolras I believe in you.” 

 

“Then we should get to it, should we not,” Enjolras bumped his shoulder with Grantaire before he put his hand on top of R’s and pushed the door open. He walked out on to the deck of his ship, looking at his crew, his men all staring back at him. 

 

“Captain! It’s good to see you!” Feuilly shouted, walking up to them and pulling Enjolras into a fierce hug, “We hoped you’d be okay, you know what with your hand. Joly kept running around the ship telling us that you were alright. If there’s anyone of us we need more than ever, Captain, it’s you.” 

 

“Feuilly,” Enjolras smiled gripping on to the other man, digging his nails into Feuilly’s back. “I would not have left without going into one more fight with you at my side, my friend.” 

 

“So, a fight is certain, then?” Feuilly asked, Bahorel coming up behind him, hand on his cutlass. “We’re going to war with England, for Nassau?” 

 

“If that is how you all choose to vote, I cannot make you.” Enjolras shrugged, “We need to vote!” Grantaire helped him to walk up the stairs that lead to the poop deck, Feuilly rang the bell so that the rest of the crew paid attention to their captain. “I know that last time we were reluctant to face the English in a fight, I understand the reasons you, men, had for voting against that encounter. Now though, our home is under threat and we have no choice other than to make a stand against the tyrannous rule of England. It is either this or subject ourselves to be under the law of a country sick with bureaucracy, a country under the yoke of a king that cares only about himself. Would you see yourselves put under that yoke, used and abused by a king that cares nought for you? Would see yourself debased by taxation without representation? We must make like our brothers in the American Colonies, they fight for their freedom, and so must we. I must face the pirate council with a united crew, I must show them that we of Le Ami, are prepared to stand against England and defend our home. Are you with me?” 

 

Combeferre had made his way through the crowd of men, towards his captain, he stood a stair lower than Enjolras. He called the men to vote, aye or nay, his voice ringing throughout the ship; the men raised their hands slowly for aye. Ferre grinning all the time as the crew slowly voted to make a stand against England, as they voted for a war that would perhaps change Nassau and the winding thread of history for the better. 

 

“And you, Combeferre? Are you with me?” Enjolras asked, looking at his best friend, hoping beyond hope that Combeferre said yes.

 

“Aye, Captain, I’m with you,” Combeferre shouted as the crew cheered. They were going to war. 

 

 

***

 

“And so you see, Gentlemen, that we cannot roll over and let the English take our island. We must make a stand against them, and their laws and taxes. Without these things we are free men, free to govern ourselves without their regulations; with them we are slaves.” Enjolras sat down, Combeferre at his right-hand side, placed a hand on his knee, letting him know that he was supported even if the other Captains voted against the war. 

 

They sat in a hot stuffy room, above his father’s tavern; the shutters were drawn across the windows, with little light and air coming into the room which was packed to the brim with at least twenty pirate captains and their quartermasters. The captains of the major gunships, the men of war, and the merchant's vessels were sat around the large oval shaped table in the middle of the room; the rest of the captains of the smaller vessels stood around the table. There was a roar of voices, as the captains argued amongst themselves before Charles Vane stood up at the opposite end of the table to Enjolras. He was an imposing man, standing at six foot tall, with long hair that was matted and tangled with sea salt and beads; he wore nothing but a pair of breeches and a vest. Vane had a long, thick, puckered scar going from just under his right eye all the way to where his jaw met his neck; he wore a stormy expression that Enjolras hoped meant anger not at him but at England. 

 

“The Ranger will fight alongside Le Ami,” Vane shouted over the noise from the other captains, his coarse voice booming over theirs. “We will not let our home be destroyed by some up himself captain from that country. I would advise all of you to join in the fight, united we win.” He said, before stepping out from his seat and making to leave the room. “We need to prepare, I will send out the sloop The Lark to round up the other captains around these islands, the more men we have the more chance we stand. Leave to let your men vote and report back to captain Enjolras if you pledge to join.” He walked out the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. It was not often that Charles Vane pledged his allegiance to another, and it made the situation in front of the pirates of Nassau very, very real. 

 

The rest of the captains soon followed Vane’s lead, walking out the room; none of them had stopped talking, most of them were in heated discussions with their quartermasters, arguing both for and against the battle. Enjolras scanned them all, making mental calculations of about how many men, ships, and guns they may have at their disposal. He knew that winning Vane had basically secured the battle, it was going to happen now whether he wanted it or not; he just didn't know how many other ships he would have stood by his side. Enjolras counted maybe eight captains who seemed pretty certain, perhaps a further five or six that were leaning towards war and then another six or so that looked very much against the proposed battle. Enjolras had nought but hope that their captain friends and crew would spur them to look at the battle as it was their only hope.

 

“We won Vane,” Combeferre smiled, his hand had moved from Enjolras’s knee to his bicep, turning Enjolras around to face him. “We won Vane. We’ve set in motion perhaps the most important revolution in history. People will talk of how the pirates of Nassau stood up and said, in unison, ‘no’ to one of the most powerful nations of our time. All in the name of freedom.” 

 

“Indeed, it seems perhaps that we may have won this round of the battle. Now we must prepare Le Ami for the war, we should manoeuvre her next to The Ranger, to show a unified front and to make communicating with Vane easier. I want to buy more shot as well, I am sure we are running low since the fight will be undertaken in Nassau we have no real need to keep food on board. I also want Eponine and Gavroche to be escorted here so that they’ll be safe during the battle.” Enjolras caught Combeferre’s eye and smiled, “I know she can take care of herself, don’t worry, Cosette will be observing the battle from here because it has the best view of the island as a whole; she will also be running out supplies to the ships involved in the fight. Eponine will no doubt be assisting in that.” 

 

“So, you’re giving her an important position while protecting both her and your sister from the brunt of the fighting. You’re a clever man, Enjolras.” Combeferre laughed, “Marius will sure be happy. I heard he had quite the crush on your sister, then I also heard from Jehan that he had a crush on Eponine. He will be pleased you kept them both out of the fight.” 

 

“Not for him,” Enjolras sniffed, “if I had a choice I would not let him near my sister, but Cosette is her own woman and I would see her happy. If that means making Marius happy then so be it. I would have Marius be in charge of communication between us on Le Ami and the town; keep him out of harm's way.” They had left the room behind, walking down the steps into the tavern, which was completely empty. “At least the captains are taking our warning seriously.” He said looking around the room, which was usually full of people singing, shouting, and drinking. 

 

“Enjolras! Julien!” Cosette shouted from the balcony, “I can’t believe you’d come here, have a meeting and then leave without saying goodbye, if it hadn't been for Eponine I’d have no idea you were even here.” Cosette was a whirlwind, she ran down the stairs taking two at a time, her skirts moving in a flurry around her ankles. She ran towards Enjolras, stopping only to pull him into a gentle hug. Eponine followed her out of the study, looking a little sheepish, her hair a mess on top of her head, the bodice of her dress a little askew. 

 

“Cosette, I meant to stop in and say hullo, but things got in the way; I’ll send Marius in with more instructions. You’ve heard of the battle I assume?” Enjolras regarded the girls with a wry smile. “For your part, you’ll be needing to use the roof and perhaps father’s eyeglass. Like I said, I’ll send Marius with word and more instructions.” 

 

“I’ve heard,” Cosette turned serious, letting Enjolras go, looking into his eyes, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Julien, I hope you don’t live to regret this. Please, my brother, do not enter into a war that you cannot win.” 

 

“We can, we can win, I know we can.” Enjolras pressed his and Cosette’s foreheads together. “I am going to win this war, and I am going to change our lives for better; they won't bother us again. I promise you, Cosette,  everything is going to be better; England won't come after us again after this.” 

 

“If you die, I’ll bring you back to kill you myself,” Cosette pressed a kiss to Enjolras’s cheek. “Keep him safe, Combeferre, you hear me. Keep him safe.” 

 

“I will, ‘Sette,” Combeferre smiled and nodded, the ever steadfast presence at Enjolras’s side. “I always do.” 

 

The walk back to the ship was undertaken in silence, both men focussing on the battle ahead; Enjolras was grateful to have Combeferre at his side, helping him through the horror they were no doubt going to see in the next few hours. The street which was usually packed with people was empty, they could see the ground ahead of them covered in cobblestones and sand, devoid of everyone but chickens and a couple of goats. They could just about see the bay beyond the streets in the town, people were swarming around the beach rowboats shuttling them to and from the ships. They could also the see the ships moving to blockade the entrance to Nassau port, black flags waving in the wind a startling contrast to the blue of the sea. Enjolras could see The Ranger, moving to the front of the blockade, gun ports open and ready for firing; they needed to get back to Le Ami as soon as they could. 

 

“We need to hurry,” he looked at Combeferre, who nodded and moved a little faster, his long legs carrying him closer to the beach much fast than Enjolras. “There’s no point leaving me behind you’d have to wait for me at the jetty anyway.” He shouted. 

 

“I suppose you’re just going to have to jog, Captain,” Combeferre laughed, tilting his head back as he walked, Enjolras sighed and started jogging. 

 

“Honestly it’s not fair, how did you even get that tall? We grew up together, so you cant use the excuse of eating well as a child.” Enjolras whined. “It’s not fair.”

 

“It is entirely fair, you get to be captain and I get to be tall,” Combeferre patted Enjolras on the back, slowing down a little to let Enjolras stop his jogging. “We do need to hurry up though, the other’s who are standing with us will all be getting into their positions.” 

 

“Aye, when we get on the ship I want you to start making stock preparations with Grantaire, Courfeyrac, if he’s back, can help. I’ll talk to Marius and make sure our gun crews are ready to go. Then we both need to make sure that Gavroche is off that ship.” Enjolras said, listing off the jobs, “Vane has left us space next to him, we should start moving there before we do anything else, at least then we’re in the right position. When it starts I want you to be below, you’re my eyes and ears down there. I’ll have Courf move between us with any communication we may have.” He took his hat off, letting the wind blow through his hair. “This is going to be a long one, I have a feeling we’re going to be really in for it this time.” 

 

“I agree, there’s a storm coming, I can feel her brewing on the horizon; we best be ready when she breaks,” Combeferre nodded, his voice low. “We’ll make it through, the crew, all of us will.”

 

“If we don’t though, it’ll be all my fault,” Enjolras sighed, feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, he was the one who had suggested the battle, he had pushed for it in front of his crew and around the table at the assembly. He had been the one who had started everything with Woodes Rogers, because he had threatened R. If any of his crewmates died or were hurt in this battle, it would be he, Enjolras, who was at fault. 

 

“Stop thinking so hard, we all knew what we were doing when we voted for war, we all knew what we were signing up for when we allowed you take this issue to the assembly; none of us are stupid enough to forget that. We all voted to do this, it won’t be your fault if any of us die, because how would you have been able to stop us from dying. It’s war, there are about to be people who die, and none of it will be because of you.” Combeferre said, firmly. 

 

***

 

The sun was starting to hang low in the sky, heat pushing down from it, unobscured by cloud and unfiltered by wind the air had a heavy quality to it. There was not a cloud in the sky, visibility was high; the bright blue expanse was unbroken, save for the island in the middle of it. New Providence stood out green amongst the never-ending blue. It was for this island that the ships were preventing access to this bay, it was for this island that Enjolras was fighting. 

 

He remembered it as he swung his cutlass through the redcoats, he remembered it as his canon and grapeshot tore the English ships apart; he remembered it as he saw Courfeyrac and Combeferre fighting back to back. Charles Vane caught his eye as Enjolras slit a redcoat’s throat, he was covered in blood, his nut-brown skin slick with red, tracks of pink pushed through underneath rivulets of sweat. He was breathing heavily. In his right hand he held a formidable sword, in his left, he hefted a long piece of chain. Vane nodded and turned back to the melee aboard The Ranger, the moment of peace they had carved out in the midst of chaos was broken and Enjolras face his ship once more. 

 

“Captain, how I’d hope I would find you here,” He knew that pompous English accent anywhere, Enjolras turned to the poop deck stairs where he saw Woodes Rogers. Battle had not spared him, his left cheek was bleeding and he walked with a slight limp, his blue naval coat was stained red and his white cravat was no longer pure white. 

 

“Rogers,” Enjolras grit his teeth, the name bringing up acid from his gut. “Let’s get this over with.”

 

“Still have both hands, I see, what a shame. I should try to rectify past errors, there are no one-legged cooks around here to save you this time, boy.” Rogers smiled before he strode on to the deck and launched himself at Enjolras. 

 

The fight felt like it went on for hours, both men evenly matched. Enjolras was faster, lighter on his feet, where Rogers was strong, all brute force and power. At points it felt like Enjolras would collapse, his hand had started to throb where Rogers’s blade had almost severed it from his body; he shifted his sword to his non-dominant hand, finding it harder to parry and thrust. Rogers all the while was smiling and grinning as he fought for control. 

 

“Even if you kill me, you will never get New Providence.” Enjolras gasped, sweat pouring off him, into his eyes and open mouth. “Even if you sever my head from my body, the other’s will never stop fighting you. All you would do is turn me into a martyr.” He smiled as his sword clanged against Rogers’. “They won't ever stop fighting you for this, I have lit a spark that would burn you and all you stand for down.” 

 

“If I am going to burn, boy, you are going to burn with me. You and all of your little pirate friends, you’re all going to die. At least my men all joined of their own free will, I know what you and your pirate buddies do, sinking merchant ships and forcing them to join.” Woodes Rogers had struck a nerve, but for once, Enjolras did not feel panic and guilt; instead, he felt a burning anger. 

 

“You’re wrong,” Enjolras shouted, “everyone joins of their own free will. All of my men voted to be here, to fight this battle; they had no reason to stand beside me other than they think that I am worthy to lead them. I listen to them, I respect their ideas, wants, and thoughts; even the lowliest of gunners, I hear what they say. That is what being a captain is, not someone who makes all the decisions and damns their men. But that is what you have done, you decided to bring your men here to a battle they cannot possibly win; you have damned every last one of them. I might show them mercy, but the other captains, well you’ve threatened their home and livelihood, so I wouldn't bank on mercy. All because, out of your hubris, rose the idea that you could tame the untameable island; well Captain Rogers, there’s a reason it is called the untameable isle.” Enjolras growled, he had Rogers, his sword was at the other man’s throat nicking the skin enough to draw blood. He stopped, in his position, Rogers would not have hesitated and there would be no doubt that Enjolras’s blood would have been staining the deck. Though, right in that moment, Enjolras could not do it.

 

 

“Do it,” Rogers said, looking Enjolras in the eyes as he dropped his sword. “Coward boy, do it.” 

 

“This is what makes us different,” Enjolras said, “you have no doubt in your mind that you have the right to dispense justice. I am not so prideful, I will instead leave your fate to be decided by a conference of my fellow captains. They all deserve a chance to have justice. Remember, though, no matter what they say, it was I who beat you.” 

 

And Combeferre was there, alongside Courfeyrac and R, with rope and chain to tie up the other captain. The redcoats on Le Ami saw their leader taken, tied up and helpless, they lay down their weapons. Feuilly rang the bell of victory, showing the other ships that the pirates of Nassau had won the right to keep their home. Vane smiled once at Enjolras, nodding his head, Enjolras nodded back; before turning to hug each and every member of his crew as equals. He got to R last, the other crew members had disembarked, Enjolras walked to the bow of the ship to see him standing there, a grin crooked on his face. 

 

“We did it,” he whispered into Enjolras’s shoulder. “We won.” 

 

They kissed as the sun set below the horizon, turning the sky red and pink, the last vestiges of golden light shining on the still waters. The bay of Nassau calm and quiet in lieu of the celebrations taking place in the town. They could see the fires in the town’s inns and taverns burning bright, they were echoed in the water; though neither man wanted to join their brothers in arms. The palm trees on the beach swayed in the light breeze, they could hear the waves as they lapped against the sand. The peace was a stark contrast to the heady chaos of battle. Enjolras felt almost like sobbing as the exhaustion weighed on him, his shoulders were heavy with the full impact of what they had done. The burned out English ships seemed to mock him from where they sat, some listing heavily, some sinking down to the depths below. 

 

“It isn’t over,” Enjolras sighed. 

 

“For now it is though,” Grantaire lifted his chin and took his lips once more, feeling Enjolras smile against them meant more than any victory ever could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, it's done, though there may be a deleted scene or two coming your way. 
> 
>  
> 
> sources used in the writing of this story: 
> 
> Cordingly D., 1995. Life Among The Pirates: The Romance and the Reality, Ninth Edition, Little Brown.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is mostly written, its about 36k so far, and should go up to about 40-50k. I'll post bi-weekly as much as I can. 
> 
> Kudos and comments keep me writing so please do that, I am a slut for feedback and will probably love you forever. 
> 
> This was also written to be a one-shot so if chapter ends seem abrupt that's why. 
> 
> Come and yell at me on tumblr on my main blog: @obi-wan-kxnxbi -- Please reblog the story on tumblr, I'm uploading it to there as well!! 
> 
> and follow my les mis blog: @jeune-et-joly


End file.
